


Late July

by TheRoarOfAtlas



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Boundaries, Comfort, Confusion, Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk, F/M, Memory Loss, Naked Female Clothed Male, Not Exactly BDSM But I Guess That's What It Might Be Considered, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Please Read the Trigger Warnings, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy Hangups, Rape Roleplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Safeword Use, Safewords, Spoilers, Surrender Play, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Working it Out, liquid courage, reader in control, this got out of hand, w h o o p s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRoarOfAtlas/pseuds/TheRoarOfAtlas
Summary: Upon hearing about you from Tequila, Jack Daniels seeks you out with a full set of emotional baggage to work through. You happily oblige, helping him craft a scene that just might grant him some peace of mind.(Oh whoops now it's a little more than that.)[x-posted to Tumblr]Enjoy!
Relationships: Jack | Whiskey/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 128





	1. Late July

**Author's Note:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains consensual non-consent (surrender play), light domination, roleplay, unprotected sex, frank discussion of safe words, usage of safe words, dirty talk and light bondage. Remember that fanfictions are not research and that you should never engage in any activity if you do not trust your partner. Stay safe!]

There was just _something_ about you that put people at ease, and Ginger Ale noticed during the interview process. " _You have a gift!_ " She had praised you, her smile unexpected and bright. " _I can see why Tequila recommended you for this position_."

Granted, being the 'head of first impressions' at a distillery that was actually a front for a secret intelligence agency had its ups and downs, but you enjoyed the work and (if you were honest) the exciting interactions with the Statesman agents. 

Tequila, of course, would practically drape himself across your desk as he regaled you with (hopefully) exaggerated tales of his heroics. The two of you were sexually involved but preferred to keep each other at arm's length out of the bedroom, neither party particularly keen on surrendering your freedom and committing to anything serious at this point of your lives. You admired his dedication to Statesman, and he in turn respected your desire to have a successful career. He also was _blatantly_ mooning over a certain analyst.

Ginger Ale was quieter and sharper than Tequila, her dry humor a joy to witness. She was the one who had done your interview, and she had given you the _full_ behind the scenes tour once your background check went through. She was beautiful, charismatic and _smart_ as a whip. You hoped to one day be as self-assured as she was.

Champ tended to keep to himself for the most part, though you had encountered him several times in the past when he dozed off in a certain chair at the end of a sunlit hallway. The elderly man was like an old tomcat, you decided, able to prowl but _more_ than willing to take it easy.

Whiskey was often away managing the affairs of their New York headquarters and as such, was the one that you interacted with the least. He would come breezing in at all hours, a slow smile and a wink directed your way before he would saunter past. The rare occasions that he engaged you in conversation were _nerve-wracking_ , as you were a little starstruck due to the glowing accounts both Champ and Tequila had given of his prowess in the past.

Ginger Ale was a bit more down to earth, thankfully. " _He's just a man who's lost a lot, and his reasons for wanting to change things for the better may not be entirely altruistic._ " She had informed you concisely when you queried about the origin of one Jack Daniels. You had picked up on the veiled sadness in his dark eyes, the age that seemed to weigh him down that wasn't _entirely_ related to years.

So when the aforementioned Statesman agent had drunkenly expressed a _certain_ desire to you at a company party, you couldn't hide a little spike of curiosity. Mainly because the two of you interacted so rarely. Hell, you wouldn't even call yourselves _friends_. Tequila must have told him about your side activities.

" _Ever since I lost her, I can't fuckin' bring myself to raw anyone else_ ." The confession had come out of left field, but you had done your best to play it off like it was normal. Lord knew you had done enough paperwork in your career at Statesman to understand that agents would just kind of… _say things_ thoughtlessly if they believed they were in a safe environment. A hazard of the job.

" _What do you mean, Mr. Daniels?_ " 

" _Call me Jack. Jesus, I ain't that old._ " He had hiccupped sharply, grimacing. " _I just mean I...it's like a mental block. I wanna', I'm excited about it, and everything's fine until I try to come and_ **_boom_ ** _. Python shrivels up like a damn salted slug and I'm left holdin' the bag tryin' to explain myself._ " He stared into his glass, looking pensive. " _Real mood killer._ "

" _Any idea why this might be?_ " You had prompted, leaning against the bar and idly scanning the throngs of people around you. It wasn't every day that so many of the company's rank and file rubbed elbows with the higher-ups, but you had to assume these economic mixers were what had kept the company (and intelligence agency) on such an even keel. It was a grounding experience, a way to remind the suits of their humble beginnings.

He scoffed out a breath. " _Oh I know_ **_exactly_ ** _why. When I lost her, I...we had only learned a little while before that she was havin' a baby. We'd been havin' a rocky time and we were actually thinkin' of breakin' up, but that news…_ " Jack had tilted his head to glance your way, his brown eyes distant. " _If I hadn't gotten her pregnant, she wouldn't have been out shoppin' that day, y'know?_ " A sad smile had quirked his mouth beneath his mustache. " _My fault_."

At the time, you had made a noise of sympathy and gone to lay a hand on his arm before you could think better of it. He, instead of shrugging off your touch, actually ended up twining his fingers through your own and giving your hand a light squeeze.

Agent Whiskey's past was a shadowy affair in the Statesman organization. Though to be fair, no one really asked _anything_ about _anyone_. Ginger Ale reasoned that the less people knew, the safer they and Statesman were in the event of a security breach. 

Anything you learned from any of the agents, you tended to keep close to your heart. It was your nature to gather useful information and foster trust for a rainy day. That personality facet had served you well as you had climbed the ranks from intern to head of first impressions, and knowing that you were someone that could be counted on to hold your cards close put many people at ease.

_Including_ one Agent Whiskey.

" _Tequila said you were good at helpin'. I'd be much obliged if you'd consider takin' a crack at my sexual baggage._ "

...

"Alright so for your words, you've decided on 'sixth' as your 'yes I'm into this', followed by second for 'slow down but don't break character', first for 'slow down and _do_ break character' and finally neutral for 'full stop'." You tapped the customary notepad on your lap, glancing over at the man across the table. The two of you were currently sitting in the kitchen of the vacation cabin that your parents had willed to you, the modest dwelling often your staging ground for affairs like this. The warm wooden decor tended to make your partners feel more at ease and less vulnerable. Perceived safety was, after all, _incredibly_ important when crafting scenarios.

Jack nodded. "Gears are easy for me to remember. Simple." 

"Got it. And no kissing on the mouth. Can I kiss you in other places, or would you prefer I didn't at all?"

"Kissin's fine." Jack allowed. "Whatever you wanna' do is fine, just not on my mouth." You jotted that down. "Hey, I uh...I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate you agreein' to help. I dunno' if this will work, but…" Whiskey rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Thanks. When Tequila mentioned your... _extracurriculars_ , I figured he was jus' bein' outta' pocket again."

You grinned at that, giggling a little. "Does he get weird a lot?"

"I mean, he's uh...well, he's got his moments." Jack replied with a smile of his own.

"So," you hummed once you had checked your notes again, "after looking over all the information we've compiled, and the ideas you gave me an outline of, I'm thinking that you may want more of a 'surrender-play' kind of experience." 

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Dare I ask how that's different from what I already suggested?" 

"Look, you and I _both_ know that I couldn't keep you from moving if you wanted to. Now, if we had a _real_ working dynamic going on and I believed that you would listen and trust me implicitly so that you don't end up hurting yourself _or_ me, then we might have something. But as we are right now, that's not gonna' happen." Whiskey inclined his head with a rueful chuckle, acknowledging the truth of your words. "So I propose that it's more of a scenario where all the agency is removed."

The agent leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "Explain."

"You need a scenario where you aren't in control and there's not even a chance of you _being_ in control, taking any responsibility _or_ guilt from the equation." You elaborated. "Basically, you would surrender your control so that you can indulge guilt-free. A lot of people do this coupled with a roleplay aspect in order to test new things that may be out of character for them."

"You coulda' jus' _said_ you wanted to tie me up, sugar." Jack drawled. "I'll show you some good knots."

"You don't have any issues with being secured to...I guess a chair, probably? We'll keep you upright. If we sprawl you out on a bed that might be a little too vulnerable." You reasoned, waiting for his nod before you wrote it down. "I know it sounds contradictory, but I want you to be comfortable in what we do. Should I leave your clothes on?"

"If you can stand to, I'd appreciate it." The man answered with a cheeky wink. "Bein' naked _and_ restrained is a little too close to the job description." He sighed after a moment, tipping the chair backwards as he laced his fingers behind his head. "Now I warn you, if I'm supposed to be an _unwillin'_ party, I may display a little less _Southern hospitality_ and a little more _Southern history_ with my language, if you catch my drift."

You pursed your lips, squinting at him. "...is that your way of saying you might use a naughty word or two?"

You received a lazy finger-gun in reply, "bingo, cherry pie. You got any names you ain't a fan of bein' called?"

"Oh! I mean, I've heard just about everything in the book." You straightened up as a thought occurred to you, and then pointed back at him sternly. " _No_ slurs."

" _Ma'am_ ," Jack sounded aghast, "I am not _that_ breed of Southern gentleman. My lingo can verge on the spicy, but I sure as hell wouldn't stoop to _that_ level." 

You narrowed your eyes to drive your point home. "I really hope not." The agent inclined his head once more, putting a hand over his heart in a display of sincerity.

The front legs of the chair met the floor with a soft _clatter_ , once again putting him on stable footing. "Now, I been wrackin' my brain tryin' to drum up a good premise like you asked, but I ain't exactly big in the screenwritin' department. I figure it could be kinda' like I'd been kidnapped? Drawin' a blank on _why_ my kidnapper would be rawdoggin' me, maybe you can come up with somethin'?" He queried hopefully. 

You furrowed your brow in thought, going silent as you carefully considered the hodgepodge of contributing factors. "Oh, I think I can manage."

...

This deck had been rigged from the start. In theory, you knew that he knew that. Still, he was certainly _acting_ like it stung his pride a bit that he'd fallen into your 'trap' so cleanly. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

Whiskey struggled against the binds that secured him to the kitchen chair. His whip was safely confiscated. Lasso out of reach. Hat was still on his head. He had _specifications_ , after all. 

You left him to wriggle for almost half an hour while you got yourself ready. The man was a _secret agent_ , after all. If he hadn't been restrained for _much_ longer than that at any given point you would be very surprised. 

You finally opened the bathroom door, sauntering out into the cabin's small kitchenette. "Miss me, love?" You crooned, committing to your role as _villainous vamp stereotype number six_ . You had worn a plain set of underwear and an oversized white t-shirt, soft and see-through from the amount of times it had been washed. You got the feeling that if you went more elaborate, you might scare Whiskey off or make him too uncomfortable to really _get into it_ . This scene was all about trust, and he hardly knew you. But he _had_ sought you out for this. All you had to do was follow through.

"Was beginnin' to worry that you forgot about me, ma'am." The agent drawled back, his smile tightly sardonic and his low voice curling hot in your belly. "You fixin' to untie me yet?"

You clicked your tongue, the noise disappointed. " _Whiskey_ , sweetheart, where's the fun in that? If I untie you, you'll just kill me."

"Can't blame a man for tryin'." Jack was absolutely in his element right now. He looked _furious_. 

You ambled around behind him, slinging your arms around his neck and resting your weight on him briefly. "Remember," you murmured in his ear. "If you need me to slow down, or need to stop entirely, you say…?"

"Second, first and neutral." The agent replied readily. You patted his cheek.

" _Good_ boy." You praised. 

"Ain't my first rodeo." Whiskey's tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips and you wanted to reassure him, but you knew you had a job to do.

"Now, can I get you a light refreshment? Something to drink? Maybe some chips?" You offered, moving to the small refrigerator that you had stocked a little earlier in the day. Planning was _imperative_ for engagements like this. "I have water, sweet tea, Coke…"

" _Dammit_ woman, stop beatin' around the bush! Why the hell do you have me hogtied to this damn chair?!" Jack erupted. 

"So _rude_." You chided him, removing a water for yourself and then leaning casually against the counter. "You really want to know, Mr. Whiskey?"

" _Obviously_." He scowled.

"Well be a _patient_ boy and maybe I'll tell you." You hummed, not making eye contact as you unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. "It was _more_ than enough trouble for me to get you here in the first place, big shot. Don't rush me."

"Listen, I'll be the first to tell you that I probably ain't who you're lookin' for." He said bluntly. "I'm just a simple liquor tycoon, nothin' more."

"Mr. Whiskey, if you continue to insult my intelligence maybe I _will_ decide I've got the wrong man. And then I'll just get rid of you." You swirled the water in the bottle, fixing him with a thoughtful look. 

"You're talkin' a _mighty_ big game, woman." Jack grumbled. 

You sloshed some of the water on your thin white shirt as if by accident, and began daubing at the gauzy fabric aimlessly. "Whiskey-"

"It's _Jack_." He spat.

"Oh, we're on a first name basis? How exciting!" You teased him, laughing when he muttered angrily under his breath. He was clearly enjoying the role of 'belligerent definitely-not-a-spy'. "Alright then, Jack. I won't _beat around the bush_ , as you so tactfully put it."

"Hallelujah, some _goddamn_ cooperation." He replied in a sulky tone.

"So, _Jack_ , I need you to come inside me. Strictly so I can bypass Statesman's biomechanical security systems. It's nothing personal, I just assumed you would be the easiest target, you know?" You remarked with a shrug. "The flirty cowboy with the filthy mouth." He stared at you and you raised an eyebrow, half-convinced that his reaction was legitimate. "What? You _do_ have a reputation."

"I hate to break it to ya', but you got the wrong beverage. You're lookin' for Tequila, ma'am." Jack retorted, his voice a little raspy. "You want... _what?_ "

"I need you to come inside me so I can use the your genetic signature to bypass the security." Granted, you were pretty certain that Statesman used _exclusively_ fingerprints, retina scans and time locks, but Whiskey had told you to weave a _good_ story for the setup, not necessarily an _accurate_ one.

Jack swallowed hard. "You've got bats in your fuckin' belfry, woman. You expect me to-"

"Oh no, that's the beauty of this arrangement." You interrupted him, still smiling. "I don't _expect_ you to do anything aside from sit there and stay still while I ride you." 

"Jesus _fuck_ woman, you--shit, isn't there some other way to do this? I ain't keen on the prospect, but if there's literally _any_ other way…" 

"Sorry. This is the only solution that my superiors could get behind." You sighed, feigning regret. "And we might be here a _while_ , from what I've heard." Jack's eyes darted to yours and he flushed, working his jaw. "Don't look so glum! I'm one of the best in my field. I'm sure I'll be able to compensate for your...lack of investment."

"You _touch_ me and I swear to God-"

"Ah ah, naughty boys get gagged." You threatened gently, walking your fingers up the side of his face to stroke them back down his jawline. Jack glared at you, his dark gaze fairly luminous with fury and maybe just a _touch_ of poorly-veiled interest. "Be a good boy and I'll let you talk as _much_ as you want. Maybe I'll even let you play with my tits, hmm?" You asked, cupping your breasts through your still-damp shirt. "Would you like that, love?"

"I…" Jack trailed off, then snapped his eyes back up from your chest. " _No!_ "

You tapped his nose, winking. "Oh I think you _would_ . Don't be so _stubborn_ , Jack." You cocked your head to the side. "No one from Statesman even knows you're gone. _No one_ is coming to rescue you." You informed him, all the playfulness evaporated from your voice. "You're mine now, Jack. My own personal key-card."

"You won't get away with this." Jack snarled.

"I think I already have." You knelt between his legs, running your hands over the jeans that covered his thighs. He squirmed, trying to dislodge you, but you just moved with him. You dug your nails into his thighs. "You keep wiggling and I'm going to have to tighten the ropes, Jack. Is that what you want?"

"Oh you filthy fuckin' woman, you absolute bitch, let me _go!_ " 

"Hmm," you tapped your chin as he kept jerking and straining against the knots. "No." 

Jack froze when your fingers unbuttoned the button at the top of his fly. "Now wait, wait just a damn minute, y-you can't--" he tried to plead.

"Oh I can. And I will." You looked up at him. "As long as we're in the right gear?"

"Sixth, sixth." He affirmed, flashing you a quick smile. You nodded and seamlessly resumed your play.

The zipper of his fly opened devastatingly slow, the agent exhaling raggedly when you pulled up his shirt and palmed his groin gently through the fabric of his boxer briefs. His cock was already half-hard, and you pointed that out with a mean little smirk on your face. "Oh no, looks like someone's _interested_." You crooned, rubbing your index finger over the head of his still-clothed dick.

" _Fuck_ off, you...y-you-" he swore, rolling his shoulders as if he was testing his bonds. "You little _bitch_."

"Temper temper." You chided, ducking your head down to mouth over the fabric of his boxers. Jack gasped out another swear over your head, his hips twitching up to meet you before he slammed them back down. "Methinks _someone_ doth protest too much." You snorted, splaying your fingers on the newly-revealed skin of his stomach. "We could make this so much simpler if you would just _give_ in, Jack." You didn't miss the way his skin jumped at your touch, and you smiled against his boxers.

"You'll--you'll have to do better than _that_." Whiskey breathed. "You think just any ol' woman can get me up?"

You stood, leaning in close and pressing your mouth to his ear. His whole body flinched when you wrapped your fingers around his cock and gave him a nice, slow stroke. " _Oh_ , poor thing. You must believe you're really special, hmm? God's gift to mankind every time you take someone to bed." You mocked, your teeth and tongue laving over his earlobe. "We're all _so_ lucky to have you, Jack."

" _Hhn_ -" Jack's shoulders went stiff, the man obviously biting his tongue. 

"You don't have a _choice_ , sweetheart. I'm going to get you hard. Then, I'm going to use your cock. And all _you_ have to do, my lovely, _handsome_ cowboy, is come inside me." You informed him, drawing a finger beneath his chin. "More than once, preferably."

"I'm not usually a man to voice my own shortcomin's, but I must warn you that this will be a futile-" Whiskey's words hitched in his throat when you stroked him again. " _Fuck_ , no, don't touch me like that, you--"

"Stop playing hard to get, Jack." You murmured, slinking your free hand up the back of his neck to massage his scalp right beneath the band of his hat. "Give up."

" _Never_." He hissed even as his head lolled forward, granting you more access to rub his neck. 

"Pity." You settled back down between his legs and wrapped your lips around his cock. 

"No, _no_ , dammit-" Whiskey growled, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "Don't you fuckin'... _no_ , no, don't use your tongue the- _ah f-uck_ \--" His protest died in a pitiful groan when his cock met the back of your throat. "Oh, you--fuckin'--you've got to be _shittin'_ me woman, the whole-?" He grunted out haphazardly as you relaxed your throat and took him all the way down to the base. "You think y-you can take advantage of me jus' cuz' it's been a while since I got laid? _Fuck_ you."

You hummed around his cock, wanting to giggle when he twitched and swore loudly. Your fingers dove past the hem of your underwear, and you moaned against him as you ran your index in slow, steady circles around your clit. 

"I _ain't_ fuckin' you, and I sure as shit am _not_ gonna' come in your pussy." Jack snarled. 

"Oh yes you are." You sang, rising to your feet and slipping your panties off. The white t-shirt came next, baring your breasts to the air-conditioned environment. 

Jack seemed to forget that he was supposed to be vehemently against this yet again as he just...watched while you teased your nipples. You tugged at the taut peaks, rolling them between your fingers and making a show out of the whole bit. 

"I can't wait to have you inside me, filling me up, just _pumping_ me full of your come." You said with a smile, sauntering over until you _would_ be in reach if his hands were free. Jack's tongue made a nervous reappearance and you tugged his chin upwards so you could see his eyes. "Are we still in gear? Or do we need to shift?" You asked. He seemed slightly dazed.

"Oh! Uh, sorry, s-sixth." He stammered. "Sixth, holy shit."

"Mm. Don't disappoint me and maybe I'll let you live." You remarked smoothly, swinging one leg over his lap and straddling him. Jack's shoulders were rigid again and you kneaded at them surreptitiously, trying your best to keep him in the scene and out of his own head.

You were well on your way to soaking wet with arousal. There was nothing better than when you had a partner that trusted you, regardless of whether you had truly earned that trust. Just the fact that they had blind faith in you to execute the endeavor that they needed...it was heady and sweet and you loved every second. 

You rutted your pussy against the underside of Jack's cock, the man snapping his teeth at the sensation. "Too good?" You taunted, laughing when he swore again.

"I can't believe that you think I'm fuckin' enjoyin' th-- _look_ , any dick perks up at heavy pet-" 

Cutting Whiskey off mid-sentence was quickly becoming a favorite pastime, you realized as you angled your hips and let the head of his cock push past your pussy lips. "In, _just_ a little, give you a taste, sweetheart…" you sighed, rocking your hips forward and back but not allowing him to sink any deeper into you. " _There_ , that's not so bad, is it?" You cajoled as he shuddered beneath you. "Just keep being good, my sweet cowboy, and this will all be over _so_ much sooner." 

"No, _no_ -" He struggled to move, to do _anything_ , but you had made certain to tie him exactly as he had specified. " _Dammit_ , when I get free of here, I'll--"

"Shh, you think too much." You tapped your index finger to his lips, smoothing it over the bristle of his mustache. "Focus on your job right now, and everything will be fine." 

Jack turned his face away, inadvertently presenting the thick column of his neck to you. And you, channeling your inner villain, leaped at the opportunity to lick and bite at the bared skin. He made a strange noise, a combination of a moan and a whine that had you raising an eyebrow. 

"Is someone a little _sensitive_ there?" 

" _No_ , I am _not_." He answered through gritted teeth. "I hate that you're touchin' me, that's all!"

"Hmm, it doesn't _sound_ like you hate it." You mused, suckling gently at the spot where his jaw met his throat. You were very careful not to leave marks, as that had been another specification. Whiskey struggled underneath you again, only succeeding in pumping his cock up into you slightly.

"Don't, don't--" His voice actually cracked and you smiled, nuzzling your nose beneath his jawline and letting his dick settle deeper.

"Oh no, it seems like you _do_ want to fuck me after all." You shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back and stroking over the base of his cock with two fingers. "Warming up to the idea of being my little fuck toy, Jack?" You teased, noting the way his knuckles whitened from his grip on the rope and his Adam's apple bobbed with the force of his convulsive swallow at your words. "I could just keep you here like this forever, you know. All tied up, _helpless_ for me…" You squeezed the base of his cock and he gasped, trying to stifle the noise. "Soon, I'd have you trained so that you couldn't come from any other pussy aside from mine. Wouldn't _that_ be fun?" 

Without waiting for an answer, you let the last few inches of his dick enter you. You leaned back on his thighs, feeling the muscles coil and strain beneath your touch as you reached down and grazed your clit. You could feel the heat of his gaze on you, those brown eyes fixated on the motions of your fingers even as his cock split you open. You were grateful that he was secured, you weren't sure if you would have been able to take him otherwise. His cock curved thickly against your back wall, the engorged head throbbing back and forth over the area that made your whole body shudder in delight. 

Whiskey's jaw was taut, his shoulders set in a rigid line that made you ache to get him to come undone in you.

"You're so quiet." You pouted, raising your hand and brushing your wet index finger over his slack lower lip. "Aren't you having a good time?"

His chest abruptly expanded, like he had forgotten to breathe for a moment or two. " _Fuck_ you." Whiskey seethed, making you chuckle softly. "I ain't _nobody's_ goddamn _fuck toy_."

" _Sweetheart_ ," you chided as you sat up. "That's not a very nice thing to say to the person warming your cock right now." You deliberately clenched down on him and Jack swore under his breath, shaking his head. "I can make you feel _so_ good, Whiskey, if you just _give_ me what I want." You insisted, cupping his face and pulling halfway off of his cock. 

"N-N...No." He replied weakly.

You sighed, rolling your eyes and shaking out your shoulders. "Well, I tried." Your hands landed on his shoulders and you gripped down to steady yourself, your hips meeting his own with a wet _slap!_ of skin. Jack's chest heaved, his eyes closed and head tilted back as you began to ride him roughly. "All I wanted was for you to _come in me_. I don't feel like that's asking for much!" You complained petulantly, rolling your hips against his when he was hilted in you with an agonizingly slow grind of your body.

Jack bit out a low " _fuck_ ," those tense shoulders trembling under your touch. You tucked your face into his neck to tease the sensitive area even more, your tongue tracing random patterns that made him squirm and writhe underneath you. "I don't-- _can't_ , can't, don't make me--" he tried to protest, his words fractured and pitiful. 

"Yes you _can_ , and you're going to." You snapped, taking a handful of hair at the nape of his neck so you could urge his head back further, leaving his throat at your mercy. "You're _coming_ _in me_ , Jack! Give _up!_ "

...

"First!" He choked out, and you _immediately_ slowed to a crawl. Your touch on him gentled significantly, no longer demanding but cradling, caressing. 

"Easy, easy." You soothed, the unrelenting assault of your perfect hips gone to a slow and careful rhythm, back and forth like a porch swing in the summer heat. Your eyes searched his own, concern shining through.

Jack was speechless, his blind panic melting away at the sound of your regular voice. _What the hell just happened?_ He licked his lips, only now realizing how dry they had gotten. "Sorry, I uh-"

"No apologies." You murmured. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Would you like to stop now?"

Whiskey took a long moment, running a mental check on his body. Nothing was sore, nothing seemed out of line. Everything was raring to go. 

Everything aside from his brain, that is. The damn thing wouldn't stop conjuring up scenes of you _pregnant_ and everything going to absolute fucking _shit_ . It didn't matter that he had zero attachment to you, it didn't matter that you were on birth control. This was how it _always_ was. 

Every damn time things got serious with a new interest, " _oh, let's start a family_ ," Whiskey just wanted to curl up into a ball. Without fail, like clockwork, he would shut down. 

And then the accusations would start, the distrust, " _How come you can do it_ **_with_ ** _protection but not without?_ " and it was disheartening, crushing to go through again and again. Explaining didn't seem to do a lick of good, it was always just that he was stringing people along, that he was a damn selfish prick, that he didn't care about what his partner wanted.

That couldn't be further from the truth, of course, but maybe that was his own fault for not dropping the bomb _before_ getting attached to someone. He just couldn't ever seem to justify asking a person on their second or third date, " _hey so what's your thoughts on having kids?_ " It felt manipulative, cheap, and if he was being honest, he knew for a _fact_ that sometimes just the idea of _having_ children was enough to scare a potential interest off. 

You were the first person to try and help Jack really wrap his head around this whole issue. And _yeah_ , that was the whole point in sussing you out, but…

Tequila didn't tell him that you actually _gave a shit_ , or at least you were damn good at acting like you did. Whiskey bit his lip. "I'm okay." He said finally, trying for a smile.

"Anything chafing? Do you need some water?"

"I…" Jack trailed off. "Huh, I admit I am a bit parched. But that means you'd have to get up." He realized unhappily.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" You asked, sounding curious. 

Whiskey got the hysterical idea in his head of you pulling out some sort of satisfaction survey at the end of your engagement, the notion making him smirk slightly. " _God_ , yeah. I...yeah." He flushed a little bit. "Dunno' if I ever got this far after…after all my mental hangups and stuff. The fact that I don't have a say in the matter seems to be helpin', though."

"Okay, don't go anywhere. I'll get you some water." You patted his thigh, cautiously settling your feet on the floor and then going to stand with a quivery little gasp that _absolutely_ stroked his ego.

Jack couldn't help his own groan at the loss of your heat, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. " _Damn_ it woman, has anyone ever told you that your pussy is fuckin' perfect?" He muttered, his usual honeyed words suddenly clumsy in his mouth. "I mean, _hell_."

You laughed, bending over to dig in the small fridge for another water. Whiskey felt his entire _body_ throb at the sight of you presenting yourself to him like that, and he sucked in a breath at your obvious teasing. Even in the soft light of the kitchen, he could see the glisten of the wetness between your legs. **_Hell_ ** _yes_ , he found himself thinking stupidly as you turned back around. 

"I'm just glad that you're doing alright. That's the most important part to me, after all." You assured him, unscrewing the cap on the water and tipping it to his lips.

Jack gulped greedily, feeling a few droplets escape his mouth and run down his neck to blot his collar. "I am. One hundred percent." He said firmly after he had slaked his thirst. "Let's keep goin'."

"If you're sure, absolutely." You acquiesced, smiling again. Placing the water bottle on the kitchen table, you then swung your leg over his thighs like you were vaulting back into the saddle. Jack held his breath, waiting for you to welcome his cock back into your body. And _God_ he was so hard, he couldn't remember ever being this hard, _what the hell_ \--

But strangely, you didn't immediately resume from where you had left off. Instead, you put your arms around his neck and actually rested your forehead against his own, bumping his hat upwards. 

Jack swallowed roughly, confused. 

"Let me take this from you." You whispered. Whiskey felt pinned by your stare, he felt as if you could see every terrible thing he had ever done, every transgression laid bare under the weight of your gaze. "Let go of it. I have you. I won't let anything happen to you." 

The words washed over him, soft and sweet. Your fingers slipped up into the hair at the nape of his neck to toy with the mussed ends that lurked there. The whole exchange was oddly intimate and Jack found himself at a loss yet again, simply grating out, " _sixth_ ," when he couldn't come up with anything else to say.

You reached down and stroked his cock, rubbing the head of it against your clit. And _Jesus_ he could _feel_ you, the difference in heat, the slick--

"Are you gonna' take it from me, sweet girl?" He hissed through his teeth like it wounded him to ask, trying desperately to cling to the illusion that he _wasn't_ willing. "Take everythin' I've got?"

The blur between reality and this playdate was getting messier by the second. He _wanted_ to fuck you, wanted to bury himself in you, spend every last drop inside the hot embrace of your quivering cunt. He _wanted_ that. Jesus Christ, this wasn't part of the bargain.

This was a _pantomime_ , specially designed pornography that existed only to coax a very specific reaction from his confused body. So _why_ did he wish he had met you _years_ ago? _Why_ was he suddenly hoping and praying that the sounds you were making were legitimate instead of exclusively for his benefit, hoping that you were _also_ enjoying this?

You angled your hips and sank back down on his lap, your hands going to your breasts where you proceeded to fondle and _tease_ them until your nipples looked like they ached.

Whiskey fucking _ached_ himself to wrap his lips around one pert little peak, swirl his tongue across the tip and make you come undone, rut his dick up into you until you cried out his name and soaked him--

_Whoa cowboy,_ he chastised himself, a little startled by how sharp the longing was. You just kept fucking yourself on his cock, that hot, wet little pussy molded perfectly to every ridge of his member and he had _never_ been this hard, this _ready_ in his life. Despite the air conditioning in the cabin, your skin shone with sweat from all the work you were putting in and Whiskey couldn't recall a time where he had been more _appreciative_ of someone else accomplishing a task within his field of vision.

Your hand slipped down, down, and Jack found himself following the trajectory until it delved between your legs and you started playing with yourself. " _Jack_ ," you crooned his name and it was like a prayer, reverent and soft, tender enough to coil itself around his lungs and choke him to death without a whisper of protest. You parted your legs even wider in his lap, exposing yourself to him so he could _watch_ his cock slide in and out of you, so he could see himself fucking you open.

"Are you gonna' come for me, sweet girl?" He gasped, craning his neck and managing to tilt his head so he could mutter into your ear, "you just gonna' _wrench_ one out for me, beautiful?"

"Mm, _no_ , I'm not coming until after you come." You whimpered, still moving your hand. "But I'm so _close_ , Jack. I want to come."

Your plaintive whine had him ablaze. _God_ , he had never wanted to please someone so damn badly in his life. "I know you do, sweet girl." He murmured huskily, exhaling hot over the shell of your ear and loving the way you quivered in his lap. "You're so _good_ , lettin' me blow my load before you get off--gonna' pump me dry when you come, aren't you? Just keep me inside you until that little pussy is all fucked out," he growled, barely aware of the words that tumbled from his mouth. 

All he knew is that you were all a-tremble at his voice, your body as hot as late July against his chest, your eyes heavy with adoration that he did _not_ deserve and _God_ , he couldn't get used to that look even if it _was_ fake. _What if you stayed?_ he wondered absently. _What if you stayed?_

Oh _fuck_ , he was about to come. Panic jabbed like the blade of a knife between his shoulder blades and Whiskey went silent, his teeth bearing down on his lower lip and his eyes slamming shut as he focused harder than he ever had in his life.

The smell of you, the _sounds_ , the heat, the little spasms of your cunt around his cock…

_Yes_ . Yes, _God_ yes, he could do this-- 

"Come in me, sweetheart." Begging him, pleading, demanding, " _Jack-!_ " You cried his name.

Whiskey groaned hoarsely, so low it was almost painful, and let go. He bucked his hips up against you as best as he could, minute little thrusts while he came harder than he had in _years_ . " _Oh_ ," he snarled, gritting his teeth, " _fuckin' Christ woman_ , I think you've ruined me, Jesus _fuck_."

Your hands threaded through the hair at the nape of his neck again and you _held_ him, not tightly, but just enough to keep him steady, anchored. "There," you said abruptly, the snide, put-upon tone of your role contrasting wildly with the gentleness of your touch, "was _that_ so difficult?"

Jack burst out laughing, not overly concerned with how strange of a reaction that was. Hell, was he _relieved?_ "Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're great." He remarked breathlessly. "I don't even know what just happened."

"Oh?" You replied, raising an eyebrow. "The mess between my legs seems to allude to you _possibly_ having an orgasm. Jury's still out though."

He grimaced apologetically, glancing down. "Sorry darlin'. It's been a while, y'know?" You rose up off of him again and he grunted as his cock slipped free from your body. Whiskey felt half-drunk, relief and release combining into a potent cocktail that left him boneless in the chair. 

You quickly put your shirt back on and then crouched at his feet, beginning the arduous process of untying him. Jack just _sat_ there, watching you drowsily. He couldn't do much else, really. "Any numbness or chafing?" You asked quietly, stirring him momentarily from his daze.

"Nah, nothin' yet." He replied, straightening his freed left leg and rotating his ankle in his boot. "A little stiff, but I've survived worse than that." 

"And how do you feel?" You questioned, "physically and emotionally."

Jack gnawed at his lower lip, trying to force his sluggish brain past the haze of serotonin in order to give you a satisfactory answer. "...good." He said finally, scrambling to elaborate, "or uh, _better_ , I guess. More okay than I've been in a fuckin' while." It wasn't a lie, he was surprised to discover. He hadn't actually put much stock into this endeavor, figuring it would be a fun little diversion that would end just like every other time. Of course, it didn't hurt that you were easy on the eyes, prettier than a peach if he was being honest with himself.

Your smile was bright and Jack's stomach knotted confusingly. "I'm glad."

His right leg was released and he shifted his weight in the seat, groaning happily when his hip popped. "Hey, wait." The agent belatedly realized, "you didn't-?"

"We were here for you." You reminded him. "Not me."

"Whoa now, _that_ don't seem fair at all!" Whiskey protested, taken aback by your nonchalance. "You just put in all the work!"

Your laugh tripped down his spine like an aftershock. "Don't get bent out of shape! It's standard policy, Mr. Whiskey. Once the desired result of the scene has been acquired, the scene ends and I start with aftercare."

"B-But--you didn't get to get off though!" 

"Me 'getting off' wasn't specified in our planning." 

"I needed to _specify_ that shit?! I figured you'd just kinda'..." His right arm was free now and Jack seized the opportunity to make a certain gesture, raising his eyebrows. "I mean, I was at your mercy!" He continued, bewildered. "You totally coulda' just kept goin'-"

"Yes, and that's _exactly_ why when the desired result has been achieved, the scene ends." You interjected firmly. "Because you trusted me enough to let me take control, and I'm not about to break that trust by doing something selfish on a whim."

Jack exhaled hard, scooting his hat a little further back on his head so he could study you. You didn't look disappointed, or annoyed with him. He wondered how many times you had fielded ignorant questions like his own and he cringed at himself. "I'm...shit, I'm sorry. I don't have any right to be all shitty about it." He apologized as you moved out of his field of view to untie the rope securing him to the back of the chair. "I just feel like you worked so hard an' got nothin' out of your end of the bargain."

"It's sweet of you to be concerned about that, but don't take it personally, okay?" You assured him, "I do this because I enjoy it. The _whole_ experience, not just the finale." The ropes around his chest sagged and Jack slid forward a bit in the seat, relaxing. 

"Can I get that water again? _Christ_ , I need a cigarette and a tumbler of the strong stuff after all that." He joked, clumsily tucking his cock back into his boxers. You pressed the bottle to his hands and he nearly dropped it, chuckling self-consciously. "Whups, sorry. I had my fists all bunched up so my fingers are stiff." Jack proceeded to down the rest of the bottle, wiping his mouth and mustache with the back of his hand after the fact. " _So_ ...what exactly _is_ it you do for Tequila?" He queried nosily.

You laughed at him and _God_ , God he loved the sound of your laugh. " _That_ , Mr. Whiskey, is on a need-to-know basis. Just like this little soiree between the two of us." You chided, your eyes bright with good humor. "I would never violate a partner's trust in me."

Jack tipped the bottle in your direction, as if making a toast. "I'll drink to that, partner. What's next on the menu?"

"We'll talk out the scene and wind back down. Get cleaned up. I'll probably…" you paused, squinting at the clock over the sink. "You want some pizza? There's a joint not far from here that serves pies and chicken wings until midnight."

Jack groaned appreciatively, "I _knew_ you were my kinda' gal. Lead the way to the debrief, ma'am."

It didn't really matter in the long run, he supposed. You obviously weren't interested in anything serious (if only because he figured that your flings with the stereotypical 'bad boy' Tequila would have become more regular in spite of the younger man's _painful_ crush on Ginger Ale), and he could respect that. Still though, he couldn't help feeling a touch morose over the possibility of _never_ engaging with you again. 

He toyed with the idea of asking you for another 'appointment', but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it arrived. Better to quit while he was ahead.

_Or rather_ , he amended ruefully as he settled down across from you in the diner booth, his hair still damp and curling slightly beneath his hat from the quick wash he had indulged in at your cabin, _better to quit now before I make even more of a fool of myself_.


	2. Annie's Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who thought that Late July would be a one-shot? This guy! I think it's been established that I am a fool, however. Spoilers for Kingsman: The Golden Circle abound in this chapter, so proceed only if you don't care about the movie being spoiled for you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: This chapter contains attempted purposeful triggering, frank discussion of character death, memory loss, regression and vivid flashbacks/allusions to post-trauma. Stay safe!]

He came back around slowly, still tasting the stale beer of last night's party like an unwanted echo in his mouth. But instead of waking up on the kitchen floor of his shared apartment, he was in a  _ blindingly _ white room that looked suspiciously like an alien spacecraft. Jack's mind raced.  _ Shit _ ,  _ maybe my roommate  _ **_wasn't_ ** _ being a total spaz when he talked about getting probed _ , the young man realized with an undercurrent of fear. 

Incomprehensible beakers of  _ things _ lined the walls of the room. Alright, maybe he should have paid more attention in his chemistry classes, but he could  _ hardly _ be blamed for assuming that none of it would have practical uses!

Jack rattled his hands in the cuffs that secured him to the table, clearing his throat.  _ Man _ , his head ached.  _ This _ was why he needed to remember to drink a glass of water  _ before _ passing out!

"S'cuse me? Uh, hello?" He called hesitantly. "Look, if the guys from Theta Alpha Phi put you up to this-"

A  _ beautiful _ older woman rounded the corner into the room, observing him over her glasses. "Welcome back." Her voice was  _ steel _ , and Jack worried his lower lip nervously. "Wasn't sure if you were going to make it for a little while."

The restraints around his wrists and ankles abruptly retracted into the table, leaving Jack to awkwardly stumble forward onto the floor. He quickly regained his footing, reaching up to seize the lapels on his usually-open shirt and finding instead that he was wearing some sort of...ski suit? Jumpsuit?  _ Top Gun, I can dig it _ . 

God, she really  _ was _ a good-looking woman.  _ Ah, what the hell _ . _ Nothing ventured... _

"Hello  _ gorgeous _ . I'm Jack, what's your name?" He didn't give her any time to answer before he carried on with a disarming grin, "How would you like to ride home on a  _ real _ cowboy?" Jack ran a hand through his usually-unruly hair and found it...weirdly tame. "I've got a six pack on ice and my roomie is out for the night so you can scream my name as  _ loud _ as you need to, sugar!" He continued, ambling forward. The cheesy, blatant approach usually worked well for him. Sixty/forty split, or thereabouts.

She kept retreating as he advanced, and then she reached into her pocket. Jack braced himself for the rebuff, confused when she pulled out a Polaroid instead. "I hate to do this to you, Jack." She sounded like she meant it. There was Blue-Tack on the back of the Polaroid and handwriting that  _ some _ portion of his brain vaguely recognized as his own, but he didn't get the chance to read it before she was showing him the faded image.

It took him a moment to realize that it was a picture of one of the girls he had dated in high school, but it looked like she had grown into a legitimately  _ stunning _ woman. She was smiling fondly at whoever was taking the picture, and the entire image radiated playful energy. Jack cocked his head, a buzz of foreign sadness churning briefly in his chest before he raised his eyes to meet the...scientist's? Teacher's? "Where'd you get this picture? I ain't seen her in years! Shee- _ it _ , she got  _ beautiful _ ." The young man drawled. "I  _ have _ been thinkin' about visitin' my folks again. Maybe I'll go 'round to her place too for some  _ catchin' up _ ."

The woman seemed startled, her sculpted brows raising and then dropping as she studied him intently. "You...don't remember...?"

"I  _ remember _ her, yeah, we dated for a while in high school." Jack insisted. "Broke up senior year because I was leavin' for college, y'know how it is."

"This is your  _ wife _ , Jack. Or she was, rather." 

His head throbbed, left temple lighting up with sudden agony. " _ Oh _ , shit." Jack grunted, holding the side of his head and grazing a bandage that he hadn't realized was there. "Damn, I must have hit my head  _ real _ good when those pricks from Theta Alpha shoved me down the stairs. Hangover probably ain't helpin'." He grinned ruefully at her. "Guess you must be the one who patched me up. I ain't never asked out a doctor before, but there's a first time for everythin'. Can I pay you back with dinner?"

The woman appeared perturbed. " _ Jack _ . This is your  _ wife _ ." She repeated, waving the picture in his face. 

"I'm real sorry ma'am, but I ain't the marryin' sort." Jack replied bluntly, "I would  _ definitely _ remember if someone like  _ her _ was still my girlfriend. Or uh, had become my wife."

"What  _ do _ you remember happening, Jack? Before…" she gestured vaguely. "This?"

Jack chewed on his lower lip in thought, tilting his head back to stare up at the featureless ceiling. "Uh, I remember…well, before they pushed me down the stairs, them TAP boys crashed my roommate's party…"

…

"' _ Pressions, I need you down here in the reconstruction laboratory _ ." Ginger Ale's voice issued abruptly through your earpiece and you sat up a little straighter at your desk. 

"What's happened?" You asked softly, rising from your seat and making your way to the door. What with a majority of the population currently locked up in  _ stacks _ of cages, enough to fill football arenas to their brim, you weren't doing much in the 'managing first impressions' area. Since you had fewer and fewer responsibilities, Ginger Ale had begun to lean upon you a bit more, especially as all able-bodied agents were deployed into the field to search for an antidote. With Tequila being  _ incapacitated _ , it had made the assignment personal to many agents. 

It had been fascinating to find out that Statesman was  _ technically _ an offshoot from the now utterly-decimated Kingsman agency. When the two surviving members of their group had shown up to the Statesman headquarters, it had caused  _ quite _ the stir. 

" _ I need a favor _ ." Ginger said, sounding tired. 

"Anything." You agreed before she could elaborate further, picking your way through the gravel in the courtyard as you headed to the warehouse where the massive casks of Statesman Reserve were stored to age. Once inside, your heels clicked loudly in the stillness of the temperature-controlled storehouse and you were certain that Ginger Ale could tell your location just from the noise alone. "I'll be with you in a moment."

" _ Don't promise me that until you know what I need _ ."

Your brow furrowed. "Uh...okay." 

Once you had made your way through the somewhat  _ labyrinthine  _ halls of the Statesman underground facility, you found Ginger Ale waiting for you directly outside the sick bay. She was rubbing her temples. 

"Oh no, that's not a good sign." You quipped as you approached.

She looked up and her face bore an expression of long suffering. "You don't have to say yes to this, okay?" 

"Ginger,  _ talk to me _ . What's up?" You asked worriedly, taking her arm and leading her off to the side of the doorway.

"'Pressions, Whiskey may not be...one hundred percent." She said carefully. "He didn't snap back into 'Whiskey mode' even though the nanites-"

"Wait,  _ what _ happened to Whiskey?" You interrupted in concern, your heart hammering a foreign,  _ panicky _ tattoo on your ribcage. "He was with the Galahads, I thought?"

"He got caught by a sniper." Ginger Ale grimaced. "Clean shot to the head."

"Jesus,  _ no _ ." You gasped. "I'm assuming one of the Galahads used his alpha gel?"

"Yes, and the nanites did their job perfectly. So he's stable, and conscious. Better than that, I would hazard, considering that he took a  _ bullet _ to the head and he's walking and talking. The  _ issue _ is that he's not really...Whiskey. At the point he's regressed to, he thinks he's still a dropout living with his college roommate." Ginger Ale pulled a picture out of an inner pocket. "It used to be that we could just trigger him to resume where he left off using the memory of his wife and unborn son, but it doesn't appear to be working this time."

You stared at her, mainly because of how casually she stated the fact that they  _ triggered _ their agents back to 'normal' with traumatic memories, but also because you had a sneaking suspicion that  _ you _ might be the reason why the aforementioned trigger no longer held the same weight for the field agent. 

You told yourself you would refuse to feel guilty about it. Whiskey had asked for your help and you had obliged. It was as simple as that.

"Now, I know your family has that rental cabin, and I also know that it's fairly secluded. If the Statesman organization could possibly, uh... _ commission _ the cabin and  _ persuade _ you to take some paid leave until Jack is...himself again, or at least until the drug issue is sorted and we can devote more time and research to this situation, I…" Ginger Ale trailed off as Jack's head popped out around the doorway.

You were treated to a blatant once-over stare that seemed to last for a  _ lifetime _ , his dark eyes studying you intently. "Have I...met you before?" Jack asked you, the hesitance in his tone making you briefly hopeful before he continued, "yeah, last night, in my dreams I think?"

You couldn't help your groan and eye-roll, laughing in spite of yourself. " _ Ugh _ , and how often does that line work for you?" You teased. 

"So far, never." Jack admitted. "But I've always held true to the belief that the sexiest thing a fella' can wear is confidence." He continued with a grin, "That and a high-quality hat." He glanced down the hallway. "So, is it just you two lovely ladies on this alien spacecraft, or what?" 

"Alien…?" You raised an eyebrow. "Okay Ginger, I'm convinced. I'll get the paperwork ready. But if you need  _ anything _ -"

"I know. I'm glad that I can rely on you." She interrupted you gratefully, looking relieved. 

"You gals got any Midrin on you? My head is  _ killin' _ me." Jack grimaced, palming over the gauze square attached to his temple even as he shamelessly watched you walk past him to the lab's computer.

"Midrin was discontinued almost ten years ago." You replied absently while you punched in your login and searched for the proper documents to send to the nearby printer.  _ Commission for resources...ah! There you are. _

"What, really?" Jack gawked at you. "Hell, I should probably tell my roommate to chuck his then, it must be  _ way _ outta' date."

" _ Somehow _ , I doubt that will be a problem."

…

Jack balked a little when you stated that you would be driving, but he quieted down once you implied that the world may look a  _ bit _ different than he recalled and that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

" _ He's not the first one to get put back a little wrong. The process isn't perfect, _ " Ginger had told you. Of course you knew about Galahad senior, the Kingsman agent who had been shot in the head and returned merely wishing to study butterflies. " _ But I'll send you informational packets that he can sift through. Hopefully  _ **_something_ ** _ will jog his memory _ ."

Just riding up in the cask elevator had Jack worryingly pale, though getting him outside into the fresh air and sunshine appeared to perk him right back up. He was obviously doing his best to roll with the punches. You thanked whatever gods were listening that Champ had given you permission to take Whiskey's Bronco. Despite the technological advancements of your own personal vehicle that made it  _ miles _ more convenient to use (you kissed your Bluetooth phone sync goodbye with a woeful sigh), the last thing you wanted was to cause Jack even  _ more _ distress. Whiskey was mercifully a classic,  _ no frills, no fuss _ man when it came to his preferred vehicle, even for being a secret agent.

You grabbed your go-bag out of the trunk of your car and walked over to the Bronco in the lot, barely holding back a laugh at Jack's obvious approval of the vehicle. He was running his fingers reverently along the tiny red pinstripe on the exterior, back and forth.

"If I get enough money for one of these beauts someday,  _ God _ , it will be a sight." He mused, sounding wistful. "Have to get a better job first, though." He continued, as if reciting an oft-repeated mantra. 

"Ginger said you dropped out. What courses were you taking?" You asked curiously. Jack had never been very forthcoming with information about his past, so you seized the opportunity to glean a little insight into the normally tight-lipped agent.

"My parents want me to be a doctor." Jack answered you with a shrug. "I dropped out last semester. Still ain't sure how I'm gonna' break it to 'em." He bounded up into the passenger seat, drumming his fingers nervously on the edge of the door. "Can I ask for somethin' to eat? I'm fuckin' famished." He admitted, changing the subject.

"Yeah, what do you feel like?" You paused, wondering if visiting the establishment near your cabin would assist his memory. "Sandwiches? Pizza?"

"She drives a manual  _ and _ she eats real food? Be still my goddamn heart!" Jack proclaimed dramatically.

" _ Easy _ now cowboy, flattery will get you everywhere!" You laughed.

He grinned back at you, but the smile soon faded. You noticed him studying himself in the side mirror, running a finger down his jaw and grimacing. " _ God _ , there's a lot more mileage on this face than I remember." He muttered, prodding the skin of his right temple to smooth out the pronounced crow's feet around his eye. As if working on muscle memory, he reached down without looking and popped open the glovebox to grab his sunglasses. He paused, like he noticed what he had done, then shrugged and slipped the glasses on. "How do I look, ma'am?" 

"Perfect."

What with the drug situation ravaging the world right now, the normally-bustling joint you favored was downright sleepy. Aside from the muted television over the counter, the only sign of life was the lone waitress who ushered the two of you in to sit at the counter. 

"I can turn that up if you'd like." She offered, nodding at the TV. "I just leave it silent when I'm alone because all the reports...well, they can grate on your nerves, y'know?"

"Nah, leave it off." You shook your head. "I'm full up on hearing about the topic at hand." 

"'Topic at hand'?" Jack repeated, looking confused. He had taken his hat off and placed it on the countertop, his fingers back to worrying the bandage on his head. 

You nudged him with your elbow. "Hey, cool it. You'll undo all of Ginger's hard work." You chided, and he jerked his hand away with an embarrassed chuckle. 

"Whups, sorry." He looked up at the menu, and then asked the waitress, "Ma'am can I get a cup of coffee and a hot brown with chicken? I'm downright  _ famished _ ." His smile seemed more genuine, somehow. You realized after a moment that it actually reached his eyes, warming them even further. You weren't sure if you had ever seen him smile like that. Maybe he had forgotten how.

You began to explain in an undertone after the waitress had bustled off to the kitchen, "so there's this... _ problem _ going on in the world right now. Big drug problem." 

"Yeah, no shit." Jack scoffed, taking a sip of the black coffee she had poured him. "Nixon  _ started _ that shit, and Reagan's been  _ on _ that shit for years. You ain't tellin' me nothin' I don't know."

"N... _ No _ , no no, this is different." You grimaced, leaning in a little closer. "I'm talking like, there was one person behind the whole thing and now a large chunk of the population is infected with a virus that will  _ kill them _ because they used illegal drugs."

Jack stared at you, his coffee cup forgotten in midair between the counter and his mouth. "You...what, hell,  _ all _ drugs?" He asked incredulously. "Weed? Coke? LSD? 'Shrooms?  _ Everythin'? _ "

"Everything unregulated, yes." 

"I... _ God _ ." The mug met the counter with a  _ thump _ and Jack put his head in his hands. " _ Fuck _ , you're serious about this, ain't you?"

This was a far cry from the boardroom Whiskey who had insisted that Champ " _ couldn't make this personal _ " after it had been revealed that Tequila was infected. But then, people changed over time. Things happened. You imagined a secret agent would grow into a fair amount of  _ detachment _ through their career, if only for the sake of their sanity.

"So what's gonna' happen to them? Is anyone  _ doin _ ' anythin' to help? Or is everyone just sittin' on their damn hands again, watchin' shit happen?" Jack growled. 

"Well, our friends are doing their best. I'm confident that they'll be able to pull off their mission."  _ Even without the senior Statesman agent at their side _ , you added mentally. Jack stayed in his hunched-over position for several minutes  _ after _ his food arrived and you finally nudged his elbow. "Hey, sour puss. C'mon, we only made this pit stop because you were hungry."

"I'm sorry, my head is...I'm havin' some trouble." He mumbled faintly, and you noticed that he had gone pale again. "Headache."

You felt a touch of remorse. Maybe it had been overly optimistic of you to assume that he might recall more clearly in this location that he had only visited  _ once _ . "To go it is." You decided for him, tugging out your wallet. "Once we get up to the cabin, we'll settle in for however long. It'll be fine."

…

There was no power. 

You cycled back through the last month's bills in your head. You had  _ definitely _ paid the electricity. You huffed out an annoyed breath. "There must be a tree down somewhere." You said aloud. 

Jack was already making a beeline for the table in the kitchen, the takeaway container quickly splayed open so he could dig into his food with newfound zeal. "So, what do we need to do?" He asked around his first mouthful. He hadn't even bothered to  _ sit down _ .

"Well  _ first _ , I'll call Ginger." You sighed, already dialing the reconnaissance specialist. "After that, I'll check the stove, the fridge--"

" _ What happened? _ " Ginger answered before it even had the chance to ring, her voice sharp.

"No no, nothing's wrong. Just the power is out. With everything being the way it is, it'll probably be down for a few days." You heard the rapid clicking of a keyboard. "Whoa hey, don't move stuff around, Ginger. We can survive just fine without power for a day or two." You assured her. It always made you feel guilty whenever Statesman resources were used on someone as inconsequential as yourself. 

" _ Are...are you sure? I really  _ **_should_ ** _ be working on getting more information from the drones in Cambodia- _ "

" _ Absolutely _ , you have way bigger fish to fry. We can wait our turn on the outage route." You interjected firmly. "I'll use the car charger for my phone, so if you need anything you can still get in touch."

…

Jack did his best to tune out your conversation with the woman from the lab, the young man scanning the inside of the cabin as he ate. 

It was small, though not cramped. Behind him was the common room, separated from the deck by sliding glass doors. The ceiling overhead was simple untreated beams, interspersed with skylights that left sunny squares on the warm wood floors. 

There was a hallway to his left that he assumed must lead to at least one bedroom and the bathroom, but he wasn't particularly interested in snooping down that direction.

His gaze landed on the wood stove that was tucked into the lone river-rock corner upon a sturdy pedestal of bricks, eyes tracing the stovepipe up to where it pierced the wall to the outdoors. Jack left the table and meandered to the stove, turning the handle and popping the door open after a brief struggle. It was still full of old ash from the last use and he grumbled under his breath, grabbing the shovel and bucket from their cobwebbed resting place against the wall so he could give the stove a proper seeing-to.

_ You would think people had never heard of a damn chimney fire _ , the young man griped to himself, eventually standing with the half-full bucket and making his way outside. "Hey!" He called to get your attention, "where's your trash?" 

You waved a hand off in the direction of a waist-high wooden crate that no doubt housed the waste receptacles, out at the end of the rutted drive. On his way by, Jack slowed briefly to a halt to watch you talk into your... _ God _ , is that really what cellular phones looked like? 

You shot him an absent smile when you seemed to notice that he had paused and the young man felt his stomach  _ lurch _ , what the  _ hell? _ This all seemed so  _ familiar _ , like he had done it before. 

His head hurt.

Waking up in a body that was damn near twenty years older,  _ retrograde amnesia _ was what the...what  _ Ginger Ale _ had called it. Jack scoffed to himself.  _ The hell kind of name is Ginger Ale? _ Then, he winced.  _ Jack Daniels, meet kettle _ .

So  _ what _ had happened in between?  _ Something _ must have happened to him. Ginger had implied that he and that girl he had dated in high school got  _ married _ , which was...not something he had ever thought about having on his radar, if he was honest.

Unless…

A weird, uneasy suspicion began to take root in his chest. There was  _ one _ scenario where he believed he would ask a woman to marry him, if only because it was the goddamn  _ proper _ thing to do. 

Oh God, he felt sick to his stomach again.  _ Something _ , a memory, was lurking just out of the light and he couldn't shake the burgeoning sensation of dread. It was as if his brain was playing tug-of-war, both pushing him towards the realization and dragging him away from it in equal measure.

Jack shook his head and dug his fingers in beneath the heavy wooden lid that shielded the waste containers from the elements (and snooping animals), shoving it up so he could empty the bucket into the ash can.  _ Later _ , he promised himself,  _ we'll tackle that shit later _ .

...

Jack appeared to be deep in thought as he carried on the task of emptying out the wood stove, so you simply left him to it as you did a quick check of everything else in the cabin. It looked like the power hadn't been out for too long, as the small fridge hadn't defrosted  _ just _ yet, so you made a note to head down the road and pick up some ice at the amenities store. You kept an 'emergency' cooler under the counter for such an occasion as this. 

This cabin and the surrounding ones didn't lose power  _ very _ often, but what with all the old trees around it tended to be inevitable once the winds got strong. Your parents had instilled the knowledge in you of how to properly maintain the property, and you were immensely grateful that no problem had cropped up yet that you hadn't been able to straighten out by yourself. 

Most of the vacation cabins that littered the nearby woodlands had been booked up for the summer, due to the prolific population of affluent wealthy who enjoyed them as an 'isolated retreat from civilization'. You were hard-pressed to think of an 'isolated retreat' that included a convenience store within literal walking distance of one's residence, but any port in a storm. 

Jack was oddly silent for nearly the entire walk down the road to the tiny store, his thumbs hooked through his belt loops as his fingers idly patted out an off-tempo rhythm on his thighs. "Penny for your thoughts?" You broke the quiet with your question, trying for a genial tone.

"I dunno', really. I've got a lot of 'em. How many pennies we talkin'?" He replied, his smile strained. "I just feel like I'm missin' somethin'... _ big _ . Obvious. And I...dunno' if I'll be happy about figurin' out what it is, y'know? Like there's somethin' in the back of my head, hollerin' at me, but I can't make out the damn words and I don't--I ain't sure if I really  _ want _ to." Jack stared off ahead, his eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. "I've already been a fuck-up for most of my life, y'know. I can't  _ imagine _ what bullshit I pulled later." 

This uncertain man was a far cry from the usual cocksure attitude you had come to expect from Whiskey. In a way, you weren't exactly  _ surprised _ that his attitude may have been mainly bravado. Or it might just be that he had played the part for so long he started to believe it. You reached out carefully and he met you halfway, almost  _ absentminded _ , instinct kicking in before his brain as he wrapped his hand around your wrist. 

It took a moment before Jack's fingers twitched, and then his shoulders went stiff.  _ Just like Whiskey _ , you found yourself thinking. "Uh, sorry, I-" he began to awkwardly apologize. 

"It's okay." You murmured, rubbing your thumb over the back of his hand. "If you're okay, this is okay." 

"...okay." Jack's voice was barely a whisper, the man smiling gratefully and giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

...

It was a beautiful night. 

Due to the lack of power in your cabin and the ones around it, the stars were clearly visible. You had brought the battery-powered radio out with you onto the deck, soft crackling static and faint music the backdrop to your after-dinner conversation. 

Jack was more at peace than he could recall feeling recently, the man content to watch your expressions in the light of the lone citronella candle that you had lit on the table. 

At ease, well-fed and comfortable, it was almost  _ malicious _ how fast his mind began to twist everything for him. Jack Daniels, college dropout.  _ Nothing _ to show for it at all. He'd crashed and burned so damn fast, there hadn't been  _ time _ . And now, all of  _ this _ , finding out that the world had gone to shit--

In the middle of his ruminations, something dragged him back to the present. A familiar song, jarring him out of his self-deprecating reverie. " _ You fill up my senses… _ "

His head aching again, Jack got a fleeting recollection of a kitchen in a tiny apartment. Faded, dingy gray subway tiles on the backsplash, yellow curtains framing the window over the sink,  _ her  _ yelling at him, " _ I hate it when we fight, Jack _ ," eyes snapping with fury but resigned and  _ no, no, something is wrong _ -

"What's wrong?"

It took him a minute to realize that it was  _ you _ asking him aloud, not his brain screaming at him. Jack grimaced, pressing his fingers to the bandage. "This song, I...I know it."

"I mean, it's John Denver." You said in a deadpan tone. "The guy oozes questionable sweater choices, denim and  _ radio-friendly _ vibes. I'd be more surprised if you  _ didn't _ know it."

"When she and I...we had moved in together. And this…it was playin' while we were arguin'." Jack's head was  _ pounding _ . The kitchen had always felt too small, though it was the perfect size for  _ her _ . They fought. About little things, and then bigger things. His gambling, her drinking.  _ What a couple _ . Jack shoved his chair back from the table on an impulse, getting to his feet. "C'mere." He ordered, extending a hand to you

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. "Why?"

"Dammit woman, just-" Jack tangled his fingers with yours, giving your arm a light tug. " _ C'mere _ ." He pleaded.

You obliged begrudgingly, obviously comfortable in your current position and unwilling to move. But once you were upright you didn't seem to have any reservations about him swaying you back and forth in time to the music, your head on his chest like it belonged there and your hands tucked into the sleeves of your large sweatshirt. 

"... _ like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean _ …" the song carried on, sweet and calm. Jack rested his chin on the top of your head, closing his eyes and just letting the faded memories wash over him.

_ "...I can't do this shit anymore." He had whispered into her hair, his voice hoarse. "All we goddamn do is fight and neither of us  _ **_change_ ** _ and I'm fuckin'  _ **_sick_ ** _ of this shit." He had continued to rock the both of them to and fro in that tiny kitchen, as if to soothe her.  _

_ "Oh, you think I'm  _ **_not_ ** _ sick? I've  _ **_been_ ** _ sick!" She threw it right back at him hotly, her fists clenched on his chest like she wanted to beat the piss out of him. He probably deserved it. "Jack, you're the one who needs to change!  _ **_You're_ ** _ the one who's the father of my  _ **_fucking_ ** _ baby, why don't you start goddamn acting like it!" _

Jack's eyes flew open.  _ Baby? _ He scoured his mind frantically, every memory he turned up so  _ frustratingly _ piecemeal! 

_Baby, a baby,_ ** _son?_** _Blue crib, blue walls,_ ** _my son?_** _Married, needed to get married, can't have a baby without getting married, her parents hate me, my parents are already disappointed, have to elope_ \--

And then everything ground to a halt. It was like his memory hit a wall, leaving him confused and almost  _ raw _ with uncertainty. He needed  _ more _ , damn it! He exhaled raggedly, making you look up at him in concern.

"Jack? Are you okay?" Your query was so quiet, like you didn't want to disturb him.. 

"I just...my uh, my joints are complainin'. Guess I let myself sit for too long." He fibbed, smiling down at you in an attempt to distract you from his obvious turmoil. "Thanks for the dance," Jack hesitated, an unfamiliar pet name lingering on the tip of his tongue, " _ cherry pie _ ."

...

Jack meandered to lean with his arms crossed on the porch railing, his head tipped back to look up at the sky for a time. "Have I...been here before?" He asked out of the blue. "I feel like...it's weird to ask, but I feel like you and I have...I feel like I've been here before. With you." He finally managed to get the words out.

"Well, yes." You admitted. "You came to me because you needed help."

"And did you?" Jack cocked his head to the side. 

"Did I what?"

" _ Help _ ."

You hesitated to answer him, mulling it over. Because in the  _ moment _ , it  _ seemed _ like you had. Whiskey had left your care an obviously happier man, but…

If the memory of his pregnant wife, the memory of  _ losing _ her had been established as his failsafe, it was downright  _ irresponsible _ of him to have removed that trigger without instating a new one first. Ginger Ale hadn't known, and now Statesman was down their senior field agent in the middle of an incredibly dangerous and  _ tenuous _ maneuver. The health and safety of  _ countless _ people hung in the balance and technically,  _ technically _ (by your reasoning, anyway), it was  _ your _ fault that Statesman was unable to put their best foot forward in this endeavor.

But…

"I think so." You said softly. "You hung onto something from your past that hurt you, Jack. Something that weighed your body down. I guess you finally got tired of carrying it with you."

Jack's smile was slow, but it lit up his face yet again in the way that Whiskey's never had. "Well good, then! I'm glad you helped me out." He shook his head ruefully. "I just feel like I've been  _ here _ before. This point in time. It's like...like I'm gettin' the chance to do somethin' over, but I don't know what the hell it is. I'm scared, feel like I'm gonna' fuck somethin' up on accident." He admitted quietly. "It  _ was _ here, wasn't it? Where you helped me?"

"Yes. This cabin is a safe environment for anyone that needs it."

"I can tell. It's...peaceful." He drawled, one boot hooked over the other as he shifted his weight against the railing. A hand wandered to your arm, his warm palm rubbing your shoulder absently. "I just hope that I can...do whatever it is folks need me to do." Jack murmured. 

His hand stayed on your arm for a good long while, the two of you silently looking at the stars.

"Hey, uh," Jack spoke up suddenly, "your... _ helpin' _ , I…"

You glanced over at him, the stark white bandage on his temple serving as a stern reminder that this was  _ not _ Whiskey, but simply Jack Daniels. The  _ man _ , not the senior agent. A college dropout in a dead-end situation. 

"Do you  _ help _ even if a person don't need helpin'?" He asked pointedly, an eyebrow hitched upwards as he observed you.

You opened your mouth, uncertain of what you would even say, but you were suddenly blinded by the motion sensor light blazing to life overhead. Jack pulled you into his body defensively, once again seeming to act on muscle memory. You watched through squinted eyes as he reached down for weapons that he didn't have, his hand flying to his hip. "Hey, don't worry." You mumbled against his chest. "The power just came back on, that's all."

"Jesus  _ fuck _ that shit is bright!" Jack squawked, his voice pitched high. "Thought I was gettin' abducted by aliens again!"

" _ Again? _ " You couldn't help your laughter at how ridiculous he sounded. The man began to laugh along with you after a moment, his expression sheepish in the brilliant Illumination.

"Yeah, yeah, get your kicks." He growled good-naturedly, rumpling your hair. "You're lucky you're cute."

You grabbed hold of his hand, tugging him to follow you back inside. "C'mon, let's make sure nothing got overloaded." You urged. 

Even when he could have let go of your hand, you noticed he continued to hang on.


	3. On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains depictions of violence, vivid flashbacks/allusions to post trauma, an instance of harassment and unprotected sex. Stay safe!]

Jack didn't sleep well. 

He spent a good portion of the night just  _ staring _ up at the ceiling, his mind going in circles. Sure, there was the blatantly-obvious  _ I'm missing twenty fucking years _ that kept him awake, but then there was also the  _ haze _ of half-memories. More sensation and suggestion than anything truly concrete; patchy echoes of arguments, slamming doors, the dizzying smell of fresh paint in the newly-converted nursery... 

Try as he might, he couldn't recall there ever being a baby laid in the crib. Every time he had seen it, it was empty.

Anxiety twisted Jack's stomach to the point where he worried he might be sick. What was it that Ginger Ale had said? 

" _ This is your  _ **_wife_ ** _ , Jack. Or she was, rather _ ."

So that must be it. That must be what his brain was shying away from. Had she taken the baby and left? Had he really been such a shitty, terrible husband that she had no other options but to leave? Inadequacy bubbled up in his throat and he huffed out a frustrated breath. What the hell  _ was it? _

…

Ginger Ale had sent an encoded information packet to your email and once you had finished breakfast, you got to work downloading and decrypting the files so Jack could sink his teeth into them. 

" _ The more information we give him, the better. Since the normal reboot didn't work, we have to do this the cram way _ ." Ginger Ale sounded totally exhausted.

"Ginger, you need  _ sleep _ ." You declared. "You can't save the world if you're passed out drooling on your keyboard."

" _ I know, I know. _ " She replied ruefully. " _ After this mission, if we succeed _ -"

"- _ when _ you succeed, you mean." You rushed to amend her words, smiling with relief when she laughed.

" _ Of course.  _ **_When_ ** _ we succeed, I'm asking for some nice, quiet downtime _ ."

"You and Tequila definitely deserve it." You bit your lip to stifle your snicker after she began to sputter and vehemently deny that she would even  _ want _ to spend time with the other agent. "Alright, I'll let you get back to stopping the bad guys. Thanks for everything."

" _ How is he doing? _ " Ginger Ale enquired before you could hang up. 

"Currently? He's still asleep on the couch." You remarked, glancing over at the field agent sprawled out with an arm thrown over his eyes. The blankets he  _ had _ been using were on the floor at that point, abandoned during the night. You meandered out onto the deck, only continuing the conversation once you had slid the door shut behind you. "He had some flashes yesterday, but nothing that seemed to stick."

" _ With any luck, he'll be back to his old self after he gets his hands on the info I've compiled. _ " Her tone was light. " _ If not...well, a Statesman crash course never hurt anyone _ ."

You cringed. "Listen, I remember how Tequila said he greeted those poor guys from Kingsman. No crash courses for anyone  _ just _ yet."

" _ God, don't remind me. There's a reason I don't like to send him to investigate perimeter breaches _ ." Ginger groaned. 

After you hung up with Ginger, you noticed that Jack had sat up, his normally-controlled hair sticking out in all directions. It was probably the least 'put together' that you'd ever seen him, and you took a selfish moment to commit the sight to memory. Brown eyes soft and drowsy in the morning sunlight, five o'clock shadow darkening his chin and jaw...

You wondered idly whether this was what he always looked like when he woke up, or whether  _ Whiskey _ would be utterly different. For all that your singular encounter had been  _ explosively _ intimate, Whiskey had kept a respectful distance afterwards. It was as if he had understood, even without speaking frankly to you about it, that you treated the scenario as a business engagement. He had needed something that you could provide, and he had placed his full trust in you to fulfill that need.

There was no real call to make things any more complicated than that, and you were grateful that he had kept his distance. It made the odd, swirling sensations in your stomach easier to manage.

_ Cherry pie _ , he had called you last night, his voice soft with uncertainty. For if Whiskey had been all sleek, suave confidence, then Jack was a confusing mixture of over and  _ under _ confident. Like he hadn't grown into himself just yet.

You snapped out of your rumination when Jack got to his feet, tearing your attention away as he stretched languidly. It was downright  _ inconsiderate _ of him to be so attractive while in your vicinity, really. Especially with you trying to tell yourself that you didn't  _ want _ anything else from him, that once had been enough. 

Deciding that you'd had enough of not-ogling him through the sliding door, you re-entered the cabin. "How'd you sleep?" You asked, trying to nonchalantly avert your eyes.

He slumped over forwards, rolling his shoulders out. "Like shit." He admitted from his upside-down position, squinting at you. "My mind was racin' a mile a minute."

"Well unfortunately for you, it's time for a pop quiz." 

Jack grunted as he straightened up, his hands on his hips in a pose you were used to seeing from Whiskey. It didn't look  _ quite _ so imposing in a pair of boxer briefs and an oversized t-shirt, but he couldn't be in hand-tailored sports coats and Levi's  _ every _ minute of every day. Despite your resounding appreciation of both. "Pop quiz, huh?"

"Yep. Get some breakfast, get cleaned up and then meet me back here."

Jack groaned, "ma'am, you  _ could _ let me get my coffee  _ before _ you start sayin' horrible things." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I ain't dealt with a quiz in over three months. Was kinda' hopin' I'd never have to again."

You laughed as he pouted, moving past him on your way to the kitchen to pour him a mug. "Alright, I'll let you wake up a little." 

True to your word you sat there quietly as Jack savored his morning coffee, taking the time to go through the rest of your emails and sort out the few requests you  _ did _ have. Statesman had shut down tours of their facilities and grounds during the recent events, but there was always the future to plan for. The distillery was a popular tourist destination and you would hate to fall behind.

After an obvious yet silent struggle with your microwave, Jack managed to reheat what was left of his 'hot brown' from the day before, enjoying it with some guttural noises that made you snicker. "It's probably awful, huh?" You teased. 

Jack grinned, daubing grease off his chin and mustache with a paper napkin. "Terrible. Nobody should allow themselves to fall into the trap of orderin' one." He rose from the table and got rid of the takeaway container, then paused. "Uh, I don't suppose you've got any fresh clothes in that bag of yours?" He asked hopefully. 

You hooked a thumb at the other backpack that Ginger had given you before you departed, slumped in an undignified manner beside the door. "Your stuff's in there. I make no promises on the state of the wrinkles. Bathroom is the door on the left."

Jack shot you finger-guns and a wink. " _ Gracias _ , cherry pie."

You stared at the screen of your laptop while he got cleaned up, doing your best  _ not _ to think about him in the shower. You must have reread the same thing twenty times over, woefully distracted by all the  _ not-thinking _ you were doing. 

It didn't help that you were still wracked with guilt about him being this way in the first place. But he  _ had _ asked--

You shook your head unhappily.

Jack emerged from the bathroom ten minutes later, his hair still a little damp and decidedly messy. "I can always fix it later." He mumbled after running his hands through it a few times and just making it worse. Jack wore Whiskey's clothes in his own way. A few more buttons undone, less razor-sharp lines.  _ Especially _ without the sports coat he normally used to conceal his holsters. However, nothing could be done to soften the... _ aggressive _ ...cut of his jeans, the denim only serving to highlight just how trim and fit the senior field agent actually was. It didn't help that they were sinfully tight as well.

You had thought it would be  _ easier _ to ignore him once he was fully dressed, but you should have known better than to be so optimistic. "Ready to get started?" You asked as he turned the chair beside you around so the back was against the table and settled into it, straddling the seat and resting his chin on the back. "You've got a lot of ground to cover."

Jack looked a bit sideways at your laptop at first, nervously asking if it would, "nuke my... _ y'know _ ," while he blatantly shielded his groin. You had a  _ very _ difficult time keeping your hysterics under control, but you managed to convince him that it was entirely safe.

Jack was surprisingly capable after being shown a few basic things, and once you were sure he'd gotten the hang of it you left him to his own devices. 

You had made a grocery list the night before, jotting down the essential supplies the two of you would need for an extended stay. You weren't certain how long it would be for Jack, or even whether he would ever be fully  _ one-hundred percent _ . Ginger  _ had _ said that the process was imperfect. 

You were about to tell Jack that you were heading into town, but hesitated. You could pick up a few of the immediately-needed things at that amenities store down the road. The idea of leaving Jack alone for however long it would take you to drive into town and grab  _ everything _ filled you with trepidation.

_ He's still recovering _ , you reasoned.  _ If something goes wrong _ …

"Hey Jack, I'm heading down the road to the store." You called through the screen door. "I'll be back in a little bit."

The man waved to indicate that he had heard you, but he seemed wholly immersed in the information that he was leafing through.

…

"Hey Jack, I'm heading down the road to the store. I'll be back in a little bit."

Jack barely registered your departure as he devoured the police report on the screen, eyes wide like it would help him read faster. He was spiraling,  _ hurtling _ towards some sort of realization, and he knew he really ought to slow the hell down but--

The proverbial lightning struck, room tilting wildly around him as his head  _ reeled _ . Memories slotted into place like puzzle pieces, and he  _ finally _ remembered  _ everything _ .

" _ Hey hun, I'm heading to the grocery store _ ."

_ Wife, baby, police said wrong place wrong time, dead,  _ **_dead_ ** _ , all my fault, wasn't there, should have been there, druggies killed her, should have been there _ . 

The blistering  _ fury _ he had felt--the roulette wheel spun sickeningly fast, red and black and red and black, whirling on and on.

_ Galahad the younger, eyes bright with success, holding the antidote up to the light of the small fire _ .

_ Galahad the elder, still a little loopy but smiling,  _ **_we've done it_ ** _ , inclining his head to Whiskey in a mute  _ **_thank you_ ** _. _

_ The soldiers pouring out of the forest around them, Whiskey shoving Galahad Junior out of the way of the first barrage of bullets and the vial slipped, shattered on the stones, drug addicts killed  _ **_her_ ** _ , all their fault no  _ **_my fault_ ** _ , promised I wouldn't let it happen again, can't let more people die,  _ **_all my fault._ ** __

_ Throwing himself into the middle of the fracas, cursing his own frantic clumsiness with every breath out of his mouth, swears hanging frosty in the air like gossamer strands of obscenities _ .

_ He was empty, out of ammo, retreating to the cabin with a swath of corpses in his wake and  _ **_then_ ** _ came the heavy convoy, the big guns, they were  _ **_fucked_ ** .

**_Oh ye of little faith_ ** _ Galahad Senior pulled a bottle of goddamn  _ **_cologne_ ** _ out and really, Whiskey would have to suggest that to Ginger Ale because that shit was fucking  _ **_smart_ ** _ , a disguised sticky  _ **_nuke_ ** _ , that's genius! _

_ All of them congratulating each other on their survival, laughing and grinning in relief, Whiskey feeling  _ **_alive_ ** _ for the first time in years,  _ **_holy shit we did it, now we have to get back up to the lab for more of the antidote_ ** _ , Whiskey was eager, untouchable, the first on his feet. The last thing he remembered was the gleam of a sniper barrel high up in a tree and _ \--

_ Inhale _ , his breath a painful spasm in his chest. Like he had been drowning for days.  _ Exhale _ , everything crashing back down in a disorienting jumble of events.

Whiskey groaned, pawing at his face as he tried to talk his head into  _ not _ carrying on with that spinning like a ramshackle ride at a county fair. He sat up slowly, brain working overtime to put everything back into place. 

The naive words he had spoken to you in the diner came racing to the surface, " _ So what's gonna' happen to them? Is anyone  _ **_doin'_ ** _ anythin' to help? Or is everyone just sittin' on their damn hands again, watchin' shit happen? _ " 

Whiskey was starting to recall that he used to  _ care _ about a lot of things. Things he had forgotten. After she had been killed, her and his unborn son, Whiskey had stopped caring for a long,  _ long _ time. 

At the end of his rope, he had tried the Air Force, which went about as well as could be expected given his stellar listening skills. He only survived as long as he did because his coordination scores were second to none. Barely twenty-three and setting himself up to spend the rest of his life in prison after he was drummed out for doing something  _ asinine _ . " _ Damn it Daniels, you're so fuckin' smart, why the hell do you act like such a dumbass?! _ " 

He had been 'selected', popped into a separate initiative with a few other young men and women who had no one to miss them and nowhere to return to. The US military had always been big on  _ making do _ . " _ Use every inch of the animal down to the grundle, gristle and groin. _ "

Whiskey signed on with a fucking  _ dog and pony show _ of all things in order to keep the lights on in his shitty apartment, trying to juggle all the weird  _ not-quite _ Blackwater training on top of under-the-table shifts mucking stalls or standing in for other, more affluent members of the business. He felt like a damn  _ carnie _ six nights out of the week, even as he quickly learned to work a crowd, fake a smile, crack a whip and sling a lasso with the best of them.

And  _ that _ was where his life had finally changed for the better. A certain older gentleman by the name of  _ 'call me Champagne and I'll cut your nuts off' _ had gone on a talent-pilfering spree one evening after he collected files on every ' _ alternate _ ' program the United States military branches had to offer. " _ AB Daniels, I'm here to make you a proposal _ ."

From itchy, gaudily-sequined chaps to tailored blazers and an understated black Stetson, Jack took to Statesman like a fish took to water.  _ Here _ was something he could do.  _ Here _ was somewhere he would be valued for his unique and... _ varied _ life experiences. Somewhere he could make a real difference, without all the red tape bullshit of the armed forces. 

Strategic gambles with stocks soon replaced his casino trips, Champ grinning at him with pride as Whiskey was voted in, " _ well earned, Agent Whiskey _ ." 

Jack's existence was frigid, devoid of personal attachments, warmed only by the profit of investment opportunities and the faux cheer of the charismatic smile that didn't reach his eyes. He was hollow, doing his best to buoy himself up with achievements. And it was better that way.  _ My fault she died _ . If he was alone, he only had to worry about himself. 

Then, along came Tequila. Perpetual jokester, good-natured. Quick on his feet after his years of being a rodeo clown but  _ painfully _ aware of the experience gap between himself and Whiskey. And he could have resented Jack every time Champ compared the two of them with disappointment in his tone, but instead he chose to ask for help. Whiskey could respect that.

And Ginger Ale, so  _ smart _ , just an absolute genius. Fighting an uphill battle since day one, breaking into the blatant  _ boys club _ with sharp dignity regardless of how much garbage ended up foisted off on her. Both Whiskey and Tequila had the unspoken agreement that anyone caught  _ fucking _ with Ginger (that she didn't feel comfortable dealing with personally) would meet swift justice.

Whiskey had started dating again after Ginger came on, if only for  _ something _ to talk to his coworkers about. Now, short-lived flings weren't exactly corporate friendly, but Whiskey kept work and... _ not work _ separate via casual flirting at the distillery and sheer, stony indifference. He knew that if he had a reputation, smart people would be more likely to steer clear and the only ones who would approach him could be gently (or not so gently) sent on their way if he didn't match up to their expectations. It didn't save him much in the way of headaches, but sometimes it let him nip things in the bud before people got out of hand. 

" _ Ginger wants to be a field agent and I'm fuckin' scared _ ." Tequila had confided in Whiskey one late night, the two of them freezing their asses off on a rooftop in Anchorage. " _ I'm scared, man. I...shit, I care about her more than anythin' and I can't even get up the guts to 'accidentally' grab her a coffee in the mornin'. _ "

" _ You want me to do somethin' about it, kid? _ " Whiskey had offered.

The younger man had groaned, rubbing at his eyes. " _ Just...vote her down until I can help her with her tactical skills. We both know she's a  _ **_genius_ ** _ , I just have to get her in the gym more often _ ."

So Jack had done it. Again and again, for  _ months _ , cringing inwardly every time Ginger Ale's request to be promoted to field agent would inevitably come through. Tequila, however, didn't so much as  _ attempt _ to coax the analyst into a  _ single _ training session and Whiskey eventually got fed up. " _ Are you actually gonna'  _ **_train her_ ** _ , chucklefuck? Or are you just gonna' keep her locked up in the Statesman ivory basement? _ " Whiskey had cornered Tequila and then challenged him outright, startled when the younger man looked absolutely devastated.

" _ I ain't good enough for her, Whiskey. I'm sorry I had you put yourself in the crosshairs for my bullshit, man. I'm just a coward, I guess. _ "

" _ ' _ **_You guess_ ** _ '? Just like that? Dyin' with a fuckin' whimper? How about you sack the fuck up and ask her out, instead of mopin' around like a lovesick teenager! _ " Whiskey had yelled. " _ Preferably  _ **_before_ ** _ the poor woman decides she's fed up with 'my' bullshit and comes out of the conference room fuckin' swingin'! Hell, I wouldn't blame her! You're makin' me look like a prick! _ "

" _ I  _ **_know!_ ** " Tequila shouted back, " _ I just don't want to hurt her or have her get hurt because I'm the stupid son of a bitch that forgot to show her somethin' vital! I don't expect someone like  _ **_you_ ** _ to fuckin' get it, Whiskey, but I fuckin'  _ **_care about her!_ ** "

Whiskey hadn't spoken to Tequila for a  _ long _ damn time after that conversation because really, how  _ dare _ he imply that Whiskey didn't give a fuck? After everything that Jack had done to give him an opening, shooting Ginger down time and again even as she presented more and more bulletproof evidence that she would be a fucking  _ force _ if she was a field agent! Whiskey grudgingly decided to give him six months. Two more quarters, two more chances for Ginger to put in her request. If he couldn't muster up the testicles by then, Whiskey would be damned if he was going to continue this charade.

They had only just started talking again when Ginger had finalized you. Recommended by Tequila, " _ I don't know what it is, but she seems to know  _ **_just_ ** _ what to say to make me feel better _ ." 

You were almost always at the front desk of the distillery every time Whiskey blew back into town from New York or Los Angeles or Hong Kong or  _ wherever _ , jet-lagged and weary. It was your job to be warm, friendly, polite, but he liked to pretend in his brief moments of indulgence that you were actually happy to see  _ him _ .

" _ Welcome back, Mr. Daniels! _ " You would say, and it was like the damn sun came out every time. Jack knew that he was a hollow man, but  _ something _ in his chest wanted to stir at your smile.

" _ Listen, I don't know much. But whatever the hell's goin' on in that head of yours, I bet she can help with it. _ " Tequila had suggested drunkenly during the quarterly mixer, slapping Jack on the back hard enough to make the older man grimace. " _ She could coax the coils out of a Slinky and it would thank her for it afterwards _ ."

" _ Is that your 'professional' opinion, 'Quila? _ " Whiskey had tried to brush him off with a sad little laugh, but Tequila was persistent.

" _ I'm serious, man! At least promise me you'll talk t' her. I don't know what you've got goin' on, but I know it can't be simple. You ain't talked with me for fuckin'  _ **_months_ ** _ on account of me sayin' some dumb shit, but trust me on this. Ask her to help, okay? _ " 

Whiskey hadn't bothered to answer, simply tossing back the last of his drink and immediately ordering another. 

And then...

" _ Let me take this from you _ ." You had said, soft, tender, your eyes locked with his own like you could see into his fucking  _ soul _ .

...

That  _ final _ recollection had Whiskey scrambling for his ski jacket, digging in the pocket and sighing with relief when he found his phone still there.  _ Thank fuck _ . He flopped backwards onto the floor again, dialing Ginger Ale. The first order of business on his extended list of  _ shit to make right _ . 

"Ginger?" He breathed into the phone once he heard it connect.

" _ Whiskey? _ " She spoke his code name warily and it was like the dam broke. 

Words just came  _ pouring _ out of his mouth in a clumsy torrent of apology. "Ginger, I'm so sorry," Jack blurted, an unfamiliar hitch in his chest. "I'm so fuckin' sorry, I--Tequila asked me, he just didn't want you to get  _ hurt _ , dammit, he wanted you to train with him so he could show you the ropes but he's so damn  _ scared _ about accidentally hurtin' you or fuckin' somethin' up with you and he asked me to oppose you until he could and shit got out of hand--dammit, Ginger, I'm just  _ so fuckin' sorry _ . I was tryin' to help him out but I know I fucked everythin' up."

_ Jesus Christ _ , he needed therapy. And a drink. Two drinks. Maybe a pack of cigarettes.

" _ Jack, what the  _ **_hell_ ** _ are you talking about? _ "

" _ I'm sayin' _ I voted against lettin' you be a field agent because of Tequila, Ginger. I'd ask him when he was gonna' ask you and he just kept beggin' me for more time--"

" _ Is that  _ **_really_ ** _ why you always vote against me? _ " She interrupted him, her voice sharp. " _ Because  _ **_he's_ ** _ worried? Or is it because neither of you trust my skills in the field? Don't lie to me, Whiskey. _ "

Whiskey swore under his breath. " _ No _ , no, I--shit Ginger, you  _ know _ we think you're the best thing since sliced bread. I just...I figured  _ eventually _ he'd get the guts to  _ ask _ you and I didn't want to be responsible for throwin' you into a pit of hungry gators if it turned out that yeah, Tequila  _ did _ have somethin' worth learnin' in that empty noggin of his. Shit, I know you wanna' be in the field, but the field is  _ fuckin' shitty _ . Tequila and I are just stupid-ass adrenaline junky  _ fuckheads _ , Ginger. I know I shouldn't have helped him, shouldn't have voted you down without explainin' myself. You ain't deserved that bro-code bullshit."

Ginger sighed and was silent for a  _ while _ . Then, " _ I just figured you had something against women in the field. Or women potentially being in distress in general, because of what happened to your wife. _ " She said softly. " _ I'm not going to lie and say I  _ **_didn't_ ** _ hate you every time you opposed my promotion, Whiskey _ ."

"You were  _ well _ within your rights to. Figured you'd just up and punch me soon enough." Whiskey felt sick with relief. Even if he hadn't exactly been  _ forgiven _ , it was a start. "I'm...shit, please just  _ ask _ him to run you through some drills or somethin' once everythin' calms-"

" _ As important as this is, Whiskey, it'll have to wait. _ " Ginger abruptly cut him off, all business. " _ Where is 'Pressions? She's pinging a distress signal. Phone crushed. Is she not with you? _ "

"What? N-No, no, she went to the…" Whiskey trailed off, his eyes going wide. "Store.  _ Fuck _ ." He hissed. 

…

"Man, was that  _ really _ necessary?" You complained, scooping the pieces of your broken phone up off the pavement and then rising to glare at the young man in front of you. Not only had you dropped your groceries in surprise, but your phone had also become a casualty. 

The guy just smirked at you, shrugging. "Sorry, that ass was too perfect for me to let it slip by." 

"Did you really think that  _ grabbing my ass _ was a good fucking idea?" You challenged him, thoroughly angry now. "Or are you not able to use your head for two  _ fucking _ seconds to think about your shit life choices?"

"Don't play hard to get. You ought to be thanking me." He put his hands in his pockets and continued to leer down at you from his lofty perch. "Why don't you come to my family's cabin around five? We could have dinner, get to know one another. My mother has connections with a modeling agency. If you play your cards right, I might be able to persuade her to take you on as a special case."

"I want  _ nothing to do _ with any  _ cards _ you're involved in, you--" 

He caught your wrist, his grip too tight for your liking. "Aw, don't be like that, babe. C'mon, give me a smile! You should be flattered that I'm even giving you the time of day, let's be real."

Behind you, you heard a large vehicle roar up the road and pull into the tiny, two space parking lot. You paid it no mind though, intent on tearing this  _ scumbag _ of an individual apart. With your bare hands, if need be. "If you think for one  _ fucking _ second that I would, number one,  _ let you get away with grabbing my ass _ and, number two,  _ accept any invitation from anyone who thought it was a good idea to grab my ass _ , you need to--"

The man's eyes going wide was your only indication that something was amiss before Jack's fist was crashing into his jaw. The agent's other hand grabbed the front of the man's polo, keeping him from dropping where he stood. "I've got half a mind to take your  _ head _ off, you highfalutin'  _ fuckstick _ ." Jack spat, then asked, "did I hear right? Did you lay a hand on this woman?"

The man gulped, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I...I'm sorry man, I didn't mean-" 

"You didn't _what_. Mean to grope her? You didn't _mean_ to?" Jack dragged the other man in close, nearly nose to nose with him when he snarled, "you're lucky I know how to fuckin' _behave_ _myself_ in front of a lady, know that?"

"Oh no, please don't stop on account of my delicate sensibilities." You said dryly, startled by the downright  _ wolfish _ grin that Jack shot you. 

Jack let the guy sweat for another second or two, then abruptly released him. "Get the fuck out of my sight." He snapped. "If I see you near this woman again I'll feed you to the pigs."

The young man bolted to escape, pausing to yell some abusive terminology once he deemed himself a safe distance away. " _ Fuck you, you degenerate hick! You'll be hearing from my lawyer! _ " He shrieked, struggling to put his hair back into some semblance of order.

Jack utterly ignored him, turning back to you instead. "You okay?" He asked worriedly. "He didn't hurt ya', did he? Ginger said your phone was pingin', I got here as fast as I could."

_ Oh _ , that explained his sudden appearance. He had thought you were in trouble. "All he hurt was my pride." You sighed. "He caught me off guard and I ended up losing my grip on my phone. Oh, and the groceries." You knelt to try and gather the remains of the produce you had picked out. Jack crouched beside you in silence, and you noticed that his hands were shaking when he went to grab the same apple you reached for. "Hey, what's wrong?" You asked in confusion.

"Nothin', I just...everything came back to me and I'm tryin' to sort it all out." He muttered. "Feel like I've got two people in my head. I'm rememberin' a lot of shit that I thought I buried."

"Oh."  _ Oh _ . You bit your lip, risking a glance at him. Whiskey was studying the ground from beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes dark with contemplation. "Are...so you're back?"

"I'm...well, kinda'. Not sure, really." The older man admitted. "Wanna' talk to you about some stuff. Back at the cabin. If that's okay? Ginger says I shouldn't try to do anythin' work-related for at  _ least _ two more days. Wants me to let shit settle." He huffed out a breath.

"Okay, let me just...um, I have to go ask for another bag." You weren't sure why you felt so... _ strange _ , scrambling to your feet and rushing back into the store to request a new bag.

It had been exciting to see the more impulsive, rash side of this man who was so often cool and calculated. The fact that he had come to your defense was just icing on top. You also knew that there was no way he  _ hadn't _ dialed himself back. You'd heard the stories about his prowess in the field, after all. Whiskey had the reputation of being effective for a  _ reason _ .

The smile he gave you upon your return was less broad than the usual trademarked 'Whiskey' grin, but it also touched his eyes, something that the trademarked 'Whiskey' grin absolutely did  _ not _ do. You wondered at the difference, and wondered at you even  _ noticing _ that there was a difference at all. It must have been because you had gotten used to how he was before...all of this.

"Thank you." You hurried to say right before he started the Bronco. "For...being so quick. And for getting rid of that guy." Jack's hold on the steering wheel visibly tightened, but all he did was nod in your direction and turn the key.

He stayed quiet for the brief drive back to the cabin, leaving you to wonder what was going on in his head. "You drove this instead of your car." He stated out of the blue. 

"Champ gave me permission. I figured it would be a little less scary for you," you explained, "more familiar. My car is very... _ modern _ ."

He hummed, seeming satisfied with your answer.

Once you reached the cabin, Whiskey snagged the plastic bag of produce and the (thankfully hardy) loaf of bread that you had acquired. "You helped me before and you didn't even  _ get _ anythin' out of it." He muttered as you went to walk past him into the cabin. You froze, glancing at him warily but he was just  _ standing  _ there, the plastic bag slung over his shoulder while he watched you thoughtfully from beneath the brim of that hat. "Now here we are, you givin' me safety again. You didn't have to. I'm sure it would have been  _ miles _ easier to just leave me in a holdin' cell until everythin' blew over." 

"And have you scared out of your mind?" You scoffed, shaking your head. "No way. Ginger made the right call entrusting you to me."

"You won't hear me complainin'." Jack cleared his throat, following you inside the cabin. You went to take the bag from him, startled when he caught your hand instead and pressed a mustache-whispery kiss to your knuckles. "You helped me before. Structured shit out. Planned it all. Made me comfortable.  _ Finally _ let me ease that grief I was luggin'." 

"You don't owe me anything." You said softly, suddenly realizing what he was building towards. "I did it because I knew you needed it. I wanted to make you happy."

"And what about makin'  _ you _ happy, sweet girl?" Jack asked, his eyes locked with your own. "What about what  _ you _ need?"

You hesitated. You had never been comfortable with all the attention on you, always preferring to give as opposed to the embarrassment of asking for anything. "I...nothing, nothing at all. I'm just glad you're-"

You didn't get the chance to finish as Whiskey took a step forward. "Sweet girl..." he began, his voice rasping oddly. Groceries deposited on the table, he reached out and cupped your face in his large hands. His thumbs stroked your skin softly. "What do you need from me, cherry pie?" Jack whispered.

Your hands currently rested on his chest and you were torn between pushing him away or grabbing him and never letting him go again. "If I tell you," you said finally, "there are rules."

Jack inclined his head, acquiescing to your stipulations.

"My job comes first." Your voice was rough. "I am my own person, and I don't do things like this lightly. If you're looking more for an  _ experience _ , like what I provided for you before--"

Whiskey interrupted you by shaking his head. "I want  _ you _ , woman. Not just your benefits. Okay?" He assured, his brown eyes sad beneath his furrowed brow. "Couldn't get you off my mind, but I wasn't sure how to...I dunno',  _ ask _ , I guess."

You mulled his words over. He had dropped his hands to your shoulders, leaving them there as he silently waited for you to make a definitive choice. "Alright." 

"'Alright'? You'll tell me what you need?" Whiskey queried hopefully.

"Asking for things is...embarrassing. Vulnerable." You explained haltingly. "Having all the focus on me can be...it's overwhelming. I worry about putting on a good show."

"What the hell kinda' partners have you had where you gotta' put on a  _ show _ for them?" Whiskey sounded incredulous. "Like, you ain't talkin' about your scenes and shit, right? You mean like regular partners?" 

You nodded. "Yeah. I've had partners in the past that got agitated with me if I...wasn't having a good time. I find it hard to focus on what's happening because I'm too worried about whether I  _ look _ like I'm having fun or enjoying myself or  _ whatever _ ."

"Is _that_ _so_." Jack growled. "Well, first order of business. I expect honesty. If somethin' isn't workin', tell me so I can fix it."

"I just don't want anyone feeling bad about--"

Whiskey cradled your face again and pressed his mouth to your own sweetly. You melted against him, your hands clutching at his shirt. "Honesty." He breathed in the minimal space between your faces, touching his nose to your own. "Just be honest, sweet girl. Tell me what you need."

God, what  _ did _ you need? What else could you  _ possibly _ ask for with the senior field agent of a covert independent intelligence agency standing in front of you, kissing you like he would die if he didn't? "I thought you didn't do kissing on the mouth." You floundered to point out.

Whiskey tilted his head to the side. "If I'm kissin' someone on the mouth, it's on account of it fuckin'  _ meanin' _ somethin' to me." He replied evenly. "Now, answer my damn question."

It  _ was _ a simple question, one that warranted a simple answer.

"I need you." 

Jack's grin lit up his whole face. "Well aren't  _ you _ in luck! I'm right here, cherry pie." He teased.

...

Whiskey shoved his Stetson back on his head and shouldered your legs apart when you laid back for him on the couch, burying his face between your thighs with a murmured apology for, " _ bein' so rusty at this, sweet girl _ ."

He couldn't stop groping himself through his jeans, rocking his half-hard dick against his palm as you whimpered and gasped out. Jesus Christ, it had been so long since he'd done this. Just  _ devouring _ someone, the sweet tang of arousal on his tongue…

He hadn't felt like he'd had a real  _ partner _ since she had died, his existence too blatantly weary and joyless to fully justify dragging another person down with him. That, combined with his pregnancy... _ hangups _ , had panned out  _ disastrously _ for his love life, and if he was going to be miserable and haunted by the past, he could do that by his own damn self.

Jack knew he had lost a fair portion of his oral skill simply due to lack of use, so he traced apologies with his tongue, mouthed his contrition against your clit and begged for your understanding with soft, tender licks to your slick cunt. You were so gracious with him, your thighs quivering on either side of his head when he pressed his index finger into you and crooked it upwards. "Sweet girl," he crooned to get you to look at him, and he nearly came in his pants as you rolled your hips greedily and pressed your pussy to his face, drenching his mustache and chin with your arousal. " _ Oh _ , Christ, you are too good to me." Jack groaned.

"Jack-" you breathed, reaching down to twine your fingers through his free hand.

"Want you to come for me, sweet girl." Jack kissed your knuckles. "Can you help me? Show me what you like, beautiful."

Your only reply was to continue to rut your hips up against his mouth and Jack let you, doing his best to chase your motions. His nose kept rubbing your clit and he grazed you teasingly with his facial hair, up and down in a way that made you quiver and squirm. It was clear that you didn't want to use your words. He assumed that was probably miles more embarrassing for you anyway. 

"I want you to come on my face, sweet girl. Come  _ all _ over my face." Jack urged you, unable to help his breathy little chuckle when you keened out in reply. " _ That's _ right, that's right, I want you to come on my fuckin' face."

"I can't-" you panted, eyes wide as you watched him down the length of your body. "Jack, I--"

"Shh, no thinkin'. Just fuck my face and come for me." Jack soothed, smiling into your cunt as you whined and pleaded with him in nonsensical bursts of words. "I've got you. After you come, I'm gonna' fuck you, okay?" 

" _ Fuck _ ." You sobbed, knocking his hat off as you grabbed two handfuls of hair at the back of his head. Jack grunted, shuddering and feeling his arousal spike at the way you just  _ used _ his face. You rolled your hips up against his mouth again and again and Jack slid his hands beneath the small of your back to support you when he noticed your thighs starting to twitch.

_ I've got you _ . 

You fell apart with a slurred, drawn out cry of his name and  _ Jesus _ , he could get used to that. Your hips continued to buck against his tongue and Jack just lavished your pussy with languid, open-mouthed kisses until you seemed to come back to yourself. "Holy fuck." You moaned hoarsely, your whole body shivering. "Jack, holy... _ fuck _ ."

"I'll get better. I'm out of practice." Whiskey apologized modestly, laughing when you swatted the back of his head. "Hey, easy now!" He grinned, pressing kisses to the insides of your thighs and then propping himself up over you. Your hands carded through his hair as you observed him and Jack, despite being fully clothed, felt like he was naked under your heavy gaze. "You okay?" He whispered, brushing his thumb tenderly over your bottom lip.

"Are you?" You asked instead, and Jack grimaced when your hand traced the bandage on his temple. 

"Don't worry about me." He murmured, tugging your hand down to his mouth so he could kiss your knuckles again. "Right now is about  _ you _ , sweet girl."

"Well yeah, but if Ginger said that you shouldn't-"

"Nothin'  _ work-related _ ." Whiskey reminded you with a crooked smile. "This? This sure as hell isn't work."

"Jack you were  _ shot in the head _ and I was just humping your face." You retorted.

"You  _ sure _ fuckin' were." Jack hummed, licking his lips. "Grabbin' my hair like you were enjoyin' yourself, too." He understood what you were worried about, of course, but he was  _ fine _ . At this point the bandage was just a precaution against infection. "Now," he continued, getting to his feet after a moment of just resting over you. "Sweet girl, I'd like to..." Jack unzipped his jeans, sliding his hand into his boxer briefs and giving his aching dick a lazy stroke as you watched. "I wanna' be inside you so damn bad." He murmured, biting his lower lip  _ hard _ in a vain attempt to rein his honest words in. "Want you to come around my cock this time, beautiful."

You, in reply, draped yourself over the arm of the couch and teasingly wriggled your ass at him. Whiskey made some half-strangled noise, reaching out to grab a handful of your rear and palm you greedily. 

He ground his cock against you before he remembered himself, and then asked, "can I?" 

...

" _ Yes _ ." You were almost  _ exasperated _ at this point, already strung out from your first orgasm. 

Jack chuckled at your impatience, kissing your temple. "Take this off for me?" He requested, tugging at the bottom of your shirt. You struggled out of it as he shifted around behind you, his hands cupping your hips to position you better. "Is this okay? Don't wanna' knock the wind outta' you with the couch arm."

"If you're going to fuck me, you'd  _ better _ be planning on knocking the wind out of me." You replied, tossing him a teasing smirk over your shoulder. Whiskey bore a conflicted expression, his hands rubbing circles on the bare skin of your hips. "Seriously. I can take it. If you can handle me fucking your face, I can handle whatever you feel like dishing out."

"I…" Whiskey looked down, then sighed. "I just don't wanna' hurt you. You've already fucked me, yeah, but I was tied up then, y'know?"

"I'm not going to  _ break _ , Whiskey." You assured him. He still appeared uncertain, which prompted you to add, "if you want, you can tell me what you'll do as you go. That way, nothing will surprise me."

Whiskey nodded jerkily, fidgeting for a moment before he muttered, "I'm gonna' push in nice and slow. Want you to feel every inch of me." Fingers slotted through your own, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, and his body finally surged forward like he couldn't help himself. You could feel how hard he was panting for air, his chest heaving against your back while he sank into your heat. Every inch of him, filling you to your limit, the blunt head of his cock finally bumping your cervix with that sweet, dull ache. Your mouth fell open without your input and you heard Jack growl in reply to your own moan, slow and deep. 

Without the rope this time, Jack was free to control the pace. You had halfway expected him to set one that would leave you aching, but he surprised you. 

Hot, open-mouthed kisses covered your shoulders and the nape of your neck and you realized dimly that he was trying to give you time to adjust to his size.

"Relax for me sweet girl, just relax." He murmured raggedly in your ear, grunting when you arched your back and whimpered. " _ Fuck _ , easy, I got you. I'll take care of you, give you what you need. Just trust me." His mustache tickled your earlobe and a searing, wet tongue teased the sensitive skin. "I'm gonna' play with your tits and I'm gonna' fuck you just like this, okay?" 

…

He was going to come  _ way _ too soon. Jack covered your body with his own, your breasts feeling like they were  _ made _ for his hands, and he just  _ ground _ himself into the wet embrace of your pussy. He caught your nipples mercilessly between his fingers, tugging and teasing like you had done during your first time together. You keened out for him, your arms shaking as you tried to hold yourself up and ultimately failed. He might have been a  _ little _ too proud when that happened. 

Whiskey let you rest, one hand sliding beneath your hips to haul you back and up slightly. He felt more than heard the breathless, reedy little cry you made at the feeling of him somehow reaching impossibly deeper, your velvet walls gripping his cock so damn  _ tight _ . 

"You are  _ perfect _ , sweet girl." He praised you through gritted teeth, "Just damn perfect, fuckin'  _ beautiful _ , takin' my dick like you were made for it." Jack's fists hit the couch on either side of your body and he wrapped his strong arms around your midsection, holding you steady as he hammered into you with a frantic burst of energy. One hand found your clit, encouraging you to grind the sensitive bud against the heel of his large palm while he drawled absolute disjointed  _ filth _ in your ear, " _ I'm gonna' make you come for me again, sweet girl, I'll drag it out of you like you did for me, I swear to God-- _ "

Oh God, he had to make it worthwhile,  _ had _ to make it something you'd remember, maybe you'd stay then, maybe you would want to stay. Maybe he wouldn't scare you off,  _ maybe maybe maybe _ .

You were suddenly  _ screaming _ into the couch cushions, your body briefly going rigid right as Whiskey felt you come around his cock and soak his hand. He fucked down into you even  _ harder _ , a smile curving his mouth when he heard you plead, " _ God  _ Jack _ , don't stop! _ "

"Wouldn't dream of it," he growled, "except I really,  _ really _ wanna' come. Fill you up again and again 'til you're fuckin' sloppy with me." Jesus, since when did he say shit like  _ that _ out loud?! Normally that was buried  _ deep _ down, saved for consideration while he was masturbating.  _ What the fuck _ , what were you  _ doing _ to him? It was like all his inhibitions had flown out the damn window.

"Come in me!" You cried when he groped your breasts again, his thumbs raking over your hardened nipples in rough,  _ mean _ circles.

"Oh you  _ like _ this, don't you? You  _ like _ it when you just get railed, can turn that sweet little brain of yours off and get dicked stupid." Whiskey snarled in your ear and you whimpered, hanging your head and trying to rock back against him. "Don't have to worry about makin' shit  _ look good _ or whatever the fuck. How long's it been for you?"

"Please-" you begged, your voice cracking. "Oh please Jack, please, please  _ please-- _ "

"Please  _ what _ , sweet girl?" Jack grunted. "Please fill you up? Please slow down? Please fuck your tits? Please come on your face? Use your  _ words _ ." He teased breathlessly.

" _ Jack-! _ " You sobbed instead, your hand desperately fumbling between your legs. 

Jack's eyes widened. "Shit, again? Okay, alright, I can get you there." He soothed, batting your hand away and spreading your pussy lips wider with his fingers. " _ Hah _ , can feel how I'm stretchin' you, you take me so  _ good _ sweet girl." Jack praised shakily, slowing his pace to a crawl. " _ There _ we go, let you just feel me sinkin' into you. Let's make you come. One more time, all for me." 

Two fingers found your clit again, stroking the no-doubt tender area gently. You  _ bucked _ against him and Whiskey saw stars, hanging his head and crushing his lower lip between his teeth in an effort to not blow his load on the spot. 

"That's right, you're gonna' come  _ with _ me sweet girl." He informed you, thrusting his hips forward hard enough to jolt your whole body. "This time, with me. You can do it." He coaxed, his chuckle rasping in his throat when you whined out and bit down on the couch cushions, your fingers clawing frantically at the fabric. "Don't hide now, let me hear you. You're doin' so damn good, sweet girl." 

God, he had  _ never _ been more grateful to be fucking someone from behind. He was sure that if he could actually see your face, he wouldn't be able to keep any sort of composure. As it was, you turned your head to the side, your mouth slack while you panted desperately and Jack  _ ached _ . 

"Third time,  _ c'mon _ , third time's the charm." He muttered, half to you and half to himself. You shoved yourself up onto your arms, spine arched and head thrown back and--

_ Oh _ , you were incredible. Jack couldn't have kept himself from coming if he had wanted to.

…

You had never been so well-fucked in your entire life.  _ Three times _ . Prior experience had ingrained the resignation in you of being  _ one and done _ , but somehow Jack had managed to do the  _ impossible _ . You were relatively certain you weren't going to be able to walk tomorrow.

You were vaguely aware of the senior agent coming inside you, but all you could do was hum while he panted in your ear, " _ holy shit, Jesus fuck _ ," over and over, reverent as a prayer. "It's official. You've ruined me, woman." He finally groaned, warm arms wrapping around your body and holding you close. Whiskey nosed wearily beneath your ear, his facial hair tickling you and making you choke out a giggle. "You are... _ incredible _ ." He said, his voice husky. Then, "we should definitely shower."

You nodded against the couch and he chuckled, pulling away so you could get out from beneath him. You nearly tumbled onto the floor but Whiskey caught you, his eyes concerned while he gave you the once over. "I'm okay." You managed to say, your hands clumsily fisting in his shirt. "My legs are just…y'know." You shrugged, a little embarrassed. 

Whiskey raised an eyebrow and you fought back a groan at the smug look that slowly took over his expression. " _ Oh? _ Do tell." He purred, his laughter surprisingly loud when you gave him a playful shove.

"Shut  _ up _ , oh my God Whiskey." You mumbled, burying your face in his chest and hearing his heart still hammering away. "I almost  _ preferred _ you as a little ex-frat boy, you weren't  _ nearly _ as cocky."

" _ Oh _ , you liked baby Jack better?" Whiskey grinned, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, "baby Jack didn't get you off three fuckin' times, sweet girl."

" _ Hey- _ " you began to protest, laughing as he grabbed your hand and pulled you down the hall towards the bathroom. His fingers laced through your own, thumb rubbing the back of your hand absently. 

_ I've got you _ .

You bit your lip. "Hey, Whiskey?" You asked softly. He turned his head to look back at you, no doubt confused by the sudden change in your tone. "Thank you."

No longer the trademark hollow 'Whiskey' grin, it was Jack's delighted smile that met your eyes. "Anythin' for you, cherry pie. Now c'mon, before we get gamey." He urged.

…

_ Jack's phone buzzed in the pocket of his jacket on the floor, screen lighting up with a message. _

**Ginger Ale:** All clear. Check the news when you get a minute. Going to go talk to Tequila. Wish me luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and enjoying this little jaunt, my friends! It truly means the world to me. 💚


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